


Stolen Innocence

by Baniac



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3712054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baniac/pseuds/Baniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his third mission with the League of Shadows, Bane travels to the jungles of Zaire to hunt down a war criminal who has kidnapped a group of school children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            Bane scowled at the mask before he donned the necessary breathing apparatus, which covered the lower half of his face. He had removed it in order to share the evening meal with his League brothers in the monastery’s common room. The men of the League of Shadows viewed him no differently whether he wore the painkilling mask or whether he bared his scarred, mutilated face so he could eat. Beyond these hidden walls, however, Bane knew the outside world would never show him such magnanimity if he were to have occasion to take off the mask. This was one of the many reasons why Bane loved his home, the League’s secret sanctuary high in Bhutan’s Himalayas.

            Now, alone in his small bedroom, Bane breathed deeply of the medicinal vapor that the mask delivered, perpetually protecting him from the agonizing residual pain of horrific injuries suffered nearly three years ago. Though he had learned to control the terror that originated from the beating he had received at the hands of fellow inmates in the pit prison where he had been born and raised, he knew he would never eradicate the memories. They were there, staring back at him, whenever he looked in the mirror, masked or unmasked. Inescapably, they were a part of his very fabric.

            But he had no regrets. The price he had paid that day in the pit had been worth it, for his sacrifice had facilitated Talia’s escape, the child for whom he existed, the light of his life, the daughter of a woman whom he had loved deeply, a woman who had sacrificed her own life for Talia’s survival.

            Bane glanced at his watch and frowned. Rā’s al Ghūl was expecting him; he must not be late for the briefing. Another mission. This would be his third since his initiation into the League, and while on one hand the prospect excited him, he also dreaded the thought of leaving what he loved behind.

            He left his Spartan quarters and paused outside on the catwalk where his attention first went to one of the rooms across the atrium. The door to Talia’s room was closed. Perhaps she was studying. That—and when she slept—was usually the only time she kept the door shut. She preferred to have it open in order to be aware of the comings and goings of the others who lived here in the dormitory, particularly Bane and her father. She had always been a curious child, and now, nearly thirteen years old, she had augmented that curiosity with a desire for control. If she needed to influence him or another League member or apprentice to do or not do something, she would use her charm, wit, intellect, and prepubescent beauty to achieve her goals. Benign goals, of course, nothing mean-spirited or truly selfish. No, it was more of a game to her, perhaps an insecurity even, caused by her incarceration in the pit for the first ten years of her life, a place where she had no control whatsoever over her existence.

            Bane smiled at the thought of Talia at her desk, poring over her textbooks, studying for Sangye’s exam tomorrow. She enjoyed learning as much as Bane did, though she often gave her teacher trouble when she felt more motivated to study the physical arts, like _jujitsu_ , with Bane in the dojo than something cerebral in the confines of her room. Sometimes she would even sneak away from the monastery to visit the village in the valley or to trek the mountain in search of adventure, though such unescorted disobedience incurred her father’s displeasure and punishment (which usually consisted of simply confining her to her room).

            Although Rā’s al Ghūl dealt swiftly and severely with any League member who was guilty of some infraction, disciplining Talia was difficult for him. Bane knew this was not simply from Rā’s’ love for her but instead it was a byproduct of his heavy burden of guilt over his daughter’s imprisonment and his wife’s murder. He had known nothing of their plight, had not even known that his wife was pregnant when he had been forcibly separated from Melisande after her warlord Muslim father learned of her secret marriage to Rā’s—known as Henri Ducard then, an infidel in the warlord’s personal security force. Ever since Talia’s escape from prison, Rā’s had been a doting, albeit strict, parent, trying to make up for ten years lost.

            “Waiting for me?”

            Temujin’s voice and his footsteps on the wooden catwalk turned Bane. The small, stout Mongol’s grin raised his pencil-thin mustache and reduced his narrow, dark eyes to mere slits.

            “Staring at her door won’t bring her forth,” the older man counseled. “Besides, you might not want to see her after she learns you are leaving again; she will be unhappy, to say the least.”

            Bane frowned behind the mask and stared downward several floors to the common room’s table, all traces of dinner cleared now by Akar and Jamyang.

            Temujin clapped a companionable hand upon Bane’s shoulder. “Don’t look so glum, my young bull. Leaving is difficult, yes, but once you are set to the task time will pass quickly, and you will be back here before you know it.”

            Bane’s frown only deepened, and he avoided his friend’s penetrating gaze. Unlike Bane, Temujin was unaware that their time with Talia was finite. Her father had plans to send her away to school in Switzerland in less than two years’ time. When Rā’s told Bane the regrettable news, he had sworn him to secrecy; not even Talia was to know until that fateful time arrived, for Rā’s knew he would have a monumental battle on his hands. So Bane realized that with each mission departing would become more and more difficult.

            “Come,” Temujin encouraged, his hand dropping away from Bane’s shoulder. “Let us not keep him waiting. And the sooner we are away, the sooner we will be back.”

            Bane nodded and followed his mentor along the catwalk to Rā’s’ room, which was adjacent to his daughter’s. After Temujin’s knock, their commander called them in.

            As Demon Head of the League, Rā’s merited the dormitory’s most spacious living quarters, which also served as his office. A bank of opaque windows allowed natural morning light into the space, spilling across a large, elegantly carved walnut desk. A blazing fire in the hearth kept the mountain cold at bay and provided additional illumination. A door to one side of the fireplace led to a bedroom and private bath. Rich tapestry rugs covered much of the hardwood floor. Opposite the bedroom was a table covered in maps and other intelligence. Rā’s stood next to it, pouring cups of steaming coffee for himself and Temujin. Of course the mask would not allow Bane such an indulgence, nor was it worth having to inject himself with morphine in order to remove the mask to partake.

            “Good evening, gentleman,” Rā’s said in his rich, smooth voice as Bane closed the door behind them. “Please be seated.”

            Rā’s al Ghūl was a formidable man, both intellectually and physically. He stood as tall as Bane, his body lean and strong like a tiger, where Bane was more muscle-bound and broad like the bull to which Temujin often likened him. Rā’s’ brown hair was thinning and receding from his wide forehead, his temples touched by a hint of frosty gray, which also peppered his goatee. His blue-gray eyes, which could pierce a man to his very soul, were separated by a prominent nose that had been broken on more than one occasion, set above harsh, thin lips that rarely smiled except for Talia.

            Bane held Rā’s in the highest regard as his master while as a man Bane’s opinion was not so steadfast. When Bane had been rescued from the pit prison by Rā’s two years ago, he had immediately idolized the man, and a part of him—the orphan—had looked to Rā’s as a father figure. He had hoped that their relationship would grow into one of mutual affection and form a bond like that of which Bane’s own father had denied him. But Rā’s had always kept him at arm’s length. At first Bane had thought it was merely Rā’s’ cautious nature, a part of his rigorous training to stay emotionally aloof and thus unencumbered, yet as time passed and Bane’s own training progressed at an impressive, unprecedented rate and aptitude, Rā’s’ outer chill refused to melt. Though he was indeed pleased with Bane’s skills and desire to excel, he was not moved emotionally, no matter Bane’s efforts to garner his love through both his dedication to the League and his efforts to personally engage the man. Bane hid the pain and disappointment this failure caused him. He told himself that in time he would accept the situation.

            But just before his official initiation into the League, the dynamic between the two men had been altered. Rā’s told him of his future plans for Talia, once she was grown and educated, plans that served not Talia but the League alone. She would be positioned to catch the eye of one of the world’s wealthiest men, Bruce Wayne of Gotham City who, according to Rā’s’ plan, would marry her.

            “With beauty comes power, Bane, especially among intelligent women,” Rā’s had said. “Talia will be able to wield her beauty like a weapon in the same way that you wield those lethal fists of yours.”

            The League would manipulate Wayne and his fortune in order to ultimately destroy Gotham and eradicate its crime and corruption from society, to restore balance and justice, as was the League’s purpose throughout the world.

            While Bane would never argue with the League’s goals, he would and did question Rā’s’ wisdom in this decision that would deny his daughter her freedom to choose her own mate and personal happiness. Rā’s, of course, would hear none of Bane’s respectful objections, reminding him that their lives were not their own; they, including Talia, belonged to the League and were sworn to serve, no matter what the cost. Since then, Bane resented Rā’s’ plans for Talia, and he knew Rā’s sensed this and looked at it as a challenge to his authority. There had always been a subtle uneasiness between them because of Bane’s role in prison as father figure and protector to Talia as well as the inseparable bond that life in the pit had forged between them, not to mention Bane’s obvious affection for Melisande. Temujin had warned Bane about the friction such history could produce and always cautioned him to be mindful of their master’s sensitivity to the issue.

            Now as Bane and Temujin settled into the chairs at the table in Rā’s’ room, Bane once again sensed that disquiet and wondered if that was why his master had decided to send him on yet another mission so soon after the last one.

            Rā’s remained standing on the opposite side of the round table, those steely eyes measuring them both as he spoke, “In the morning you will leave for Zaire.”

            Impulsively Bane asked, “You won’t be coming with us, sir?”

            “No, Bane. Accompanying you on your first two missions was sufficient to convince me that you require no one but your supervising officer for future assignments.”

            Both disappointed and flattered, Bane nodded and forced himself to hold Rā’s’ gaze without betraying either emotion.

            Rā’s opened a manila folder and set a dossier before his two operatives. The photograph of a man of African descent stared back at Bane, a man with dark, dead eyes set deep in their sockets.

            “Joseph Mutara,” Rā’s said. “Born and raised in Uganda, a Hutu. Former member of the Interahamwe militia. Wanted by the Rwandan government for crimes against humanity during that country’s recent genocide. He fled Rwanda and is now operating in Zaire where, among other nefarious undertakings, he is active in human trafficking. Your mission is to apprehend him. He will then be delivered to the Rwandan authorities. There is a large price on his head, and the League is in need of such funds. But more important than the financial gains is that this man will no longer be able to harm innocent people. One of our operatives in Zaire, Eshele Zakuani, has been tracking Mutara who has proven elusive. His reports are in the dossier.” Rā’s gripped the lapels of his belted tunic in a familiar, confident pose. “Zakuani now has intelligence that he believes will lead you to Mutara.”

            Bane continued to study the photograph, the way he used to sit for hours on end in the prison _bawdi_ and observe other inmates, using such patient methods to learn much about each individual.

            “Zakuani reports that Mutara has kidnapped two dozen schoolchildren,” Rā’s continued, “and plans to sell them to the diamond trade as slave labor.”

            Bane looked up, appalled at the idea of children as slaves, children ripped from families and terrified, as he had been after his mother’s death in prison. He imagined Talia in such a horrific situation. “So we are to rescue the children.”

            “Your objective is Mutara,” Rā’s stressed. “Acquiring your target may mean collateral damage. Of course I don’t relish the thought, but there is always that risk. Are you prepared for that, Bane?”

            He frowned. “Yes, sir.”

            Rā’s’ gaze shifted to Temujin with concern. “This won’t be an issue?”

            Now Bane scowled, for he knew Ra’s was not questioning Temujin’s abilities but his own, and he quickly spoke before his SO could, “It’s not an issue, sir, I assure you.”

            “Very well,” Rā’s said, putting his hands behind his back. “You will fly into Kolwezi in Katanga. Zakuani will meet you there. He and an associate will form the rest of your team. Temujin will lead the operation.” Rā’s paused. “The jungle climate may prove to be a challenge for your mask, Bane. However, there is no way to find out how it will handle the humidity unless it is tested in the field. If Temujin feels the mask is impeding your effectiveness, you will be relieved of your duties there and return here.”

            With unfounded confidence, Bane said, “I’m sure there will be no need for that, sir.”

            “Again I will stress that you must always be prepared for anything, Bane.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            After a few more details were discussed, the briefing ended, and Bane followed Temujin out of the room. He could not shake the feeling that Rā’s lacked confidence in his inclusion in the mission, yet if that was true, why had Rā’s selected him to begin with? Or had his master not anticipated his reaction to the kidnapped children? Considering his own daughter, how could Rā’s seem so unmoved by the captives’ plight? Or was it all a façade on his part? No, Bane decided, for Rā’s was a man who would do whatever was necessary for the success of a mission, no matter how odious some of the details might be. _I need to be more like him_ , Bane thought. _I must improve my focus_.

            Temujin made a concerned noise and halted on the catwalk just a few steps away from Rā’s’ room. Curious, Bane stopped next to him. His mentor raised one eyebrow and subtly motioned across the atrium with his chin. There Bane saw Talia standing outside of his bedroom, turned away from them, leaning back against the catwalk railing, arms crossed against her chest, her head down as if in heavy contemplation, one foot moving restlessly against the floorboards.

            Quietly Temujin said, “It appears someone was eavesdropping outside her father’s door just now. And she doesn’t look happy with what she’s heard.”

            Once more Bane’s heart grew heavy at the thought of leaving Talia, his concerns about Rā’s chased away by the sight of her standing there alone.

            Temujin briefly rested a hand on Bane’s shoulder, his expression a mixture of amusement and regret. “I will leave you to it, then. Good luck, my friend. I will see you in the morning at 0500 hours. Don’t let our little sister interfere with your rest. We have a long and arduous journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

            Bane watched his SO head downstairs. Talia glanced over her shoulder at Temujin’s descent but did not turn to look at Bane, though he was certain she knew he was there. With an inward sigh, he started toward her.

            When Bane halted next to her, she did not raise her large sapphire eyes, and her tapered jaw tightened with displeasure. Her delicate hands now rested behind her on the railing, her fingers flexing slightly against the wood. At dinner her shoulder-length sable hair had been pulled back from her attractive oval face, but now it hung loose and forward, as if she wanted it to hide her from the world.

            “Talia,” Bane said softly. He kept himself from touching her, for he sensed her desire for distance.

            “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” she said in a clipped tone.

            “In the morning, yes, I’m afraid so.”

            With unexpected speed, she wheeled away from him toward the nearby stairs, but Bane caught the sleeve of her brown tunic. She glared back at him, lips pressed in a tight line, and tried to jerk free.

            “Talia, wait.”

            “Let me go.”

            “Why are you angry? You know I have no choice.”

            “You just got back,” she shot, blinking as if to hide emotion.

            “I’ve been back two weeks.”

            His words only seemed to stir her anger more; her jaw muscles twitched. Again she tried to pull from his grasp.

            “Talia, stop. Stop it. Come here.”

            Voices from the common room drew near the base of the stairs. Two of their brothers came into view. They would soon climb toward their rooms and be unwitting and uncomfortable witnesses to this confrontation.

            Bane reached for Talia with both hands now, taking her by the shoulders. For only an instant she resisted, hopeless against overpowering him. No one could.

            He kept calm, as Temujin had taught him. “Your father won’t be pleased if he sees you making a scene.” Bane glanced pointedly toward Rā’s’ closed door. This settled her a bit.

            Quieter she ground out, “Is he leaving with you?”

            “No.”

            Her surprise at this news seemed to distract her from her anger. “Why not?”

            “He feels it unnecessary to accompany me.”

            Talia no longer leaned away from his hold upon her. She glanced at her father’s door then back to Bane, swallowing. “Why is he sending you out so soon? It’s not fair. Someone else could go. Someone else _should_ go.”

            The two other men began to climb the stairs.

            “Let’s go to your room,” Bane suggested. “We can talk privately.”

            She gave him a cool look and instead resolutely marched into his room. Bane sighed in exasperation. The older Talia grew, the more complex and challenging she had become. And he knew from Temujin’s and Rā’s’ warnings that her complexities would continue to expand. Though Bane was proud of her maturation, sometimes he longed for the more pliable child of the pit.

            Before Bane had gone to Rā’s’ room, he had lit a fire in his bedroom, so now when he returned, warmth greeted him. The last light of day struggled through the opaque glass of the single window, adding to the fire’s radiance, revealing the room’s simplicity—a bed, a humble desk, and a rustic dresser. Talia drew near the hearth, stood there staring at the flames for a moment as Bane went to sit on his bed. He expected her to join him there, but instead she pulled the chair out from the desk and sat, angled slightly away from him and toward the fireplace. The golden glow danced against her dusky complexion.

            “Where is he sending you?” she asked, most of the anger gone from her voice, replaced by a hollowness.

            “Zaire.”

            “How long will you be gone?”

            “I’m not sure. However long it takes, of course.”

            “What is your mission?”

            “To find a man involved in human trafficking.”

            “A dangerous man?”

            “Judging from his dossier, yes. He was involved in the Rwandan genocide.”

            She frowned. “Papa should be going with you. He would keep you safe.”

            Bane chuckled. “Was he in the pit with me those twenty-five years, _habibati_?”

            Talia sheepishly bowed her head. “No.”

            “And I survived all that time, didn’t I?”

            “Until he rescued you.”

            Bane wondered if her reminder of how helpless he had been that day when Rā’s al Ghūl and his men had stormed the prison had been purposeful.

            “I’m well-trained. You know that, and so does your father. I’m proud that he feels confident enough to allow me to do this without him.”

            “Jin will be with you, though?”

            “Of course. As my SO he’ll accompany me on every mission for this first year. Surely you haven’t forgotten that.”

            “I just wanted to make sure nothing had changed.”

            “Well, nothing has changed there, no. But something has changed here, with you. What is it?”

            Talia struggled with her response, and Bane patiently waited for her to organize her thoughts.

            After she had started and stopped three times, Bane patted the mattress and gently invited, “Come over here, next to me. You’re being silly sitting there by yourself.”

            She muttered toward the fire, “I am not being silly.”

            “Well, then, stubborn. Either way…” He patted the bed again.

            At last she capitulated and shuffled across the wood floor to drop heavily to the bed. Normally she would sit close, but today she kept a small space between them.

            “Here,” Bane said, reaching around her for a blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed. The blanket had belonged to her mother. Handcrafted in some Middle Eastern village, the article had been a gift from Melisande’s husband, and she had cherished it until her dying day. The rich, deep reds and browns and the finely sewn floral designs complimented Talia’s complexion as Bane draped it around her to offer solace more than any needed warmth. Then he put his muscular arm about her and drew her close. Surprisingly she did not resist.

            “Tell me what is troubling you, little mouse,” he said, watching her closely.

            “I don’t want you to leave tomorrow.”

            “You know I have no choice in the matter. It’s my duty. It’s who I am now, who I must be.” His hand brushed her hair away from her face. “You weren’t upset like this when I left the other two times.”

            “But I was.” She kept staring at her hands as she picked at one of the cuticles. “I just hid it from you and Papa.”

            Surprised by her deception, he was pained by the thought of being the cause of her sorrow. “It’s not easy for me either. I hate leaving you, but perhaps in time it will become easier for both of us. You must focus on your studies and your training, and before you know it I will be back.”

            “I’m afraid,” she murmured, as if ashamed of the admission.

            “Afraid?” Bane’s finger tipped her chin up to encourage her to look at him, which she reluctantly did. He tried to smile to give her strength. “The daughter of Rā’s al Ghūl is never afraid. I have never seen it.”

            Talia frowned and returned her attention to her fingernails, torturing them further.

            Abandoning his attempt at teasing, he sobered and caressed her cheek. “What are you afraid of?”

            “That you won’t come back. That something terrible will happen to you. I can’t lose you like I lost Mama.”

            “ _Habibati_ , look at me.” When she obeyed, he continued, “I will always come back for you, just like you came back for me after you escaped the pit. Nothing can separate us.”

            “How can you say that? When you leave here, you’re putting yourself in danger. Someone could hurt you, someone could kill you.”

            “Talia.” Gently Bane turned her toward him, finding tears in her eyes. “Look at this.” He pointed to the mask. “Is this the face of someone who’s easy to kill?”

            “Papa should let me come with you. I have enough training now to help you and Jin.”

            “Neither your father nor I will allow such foolishness. Your education comes first. You have your whole life ahead of you, and the life I now lead should never be yours. You have so many opportunities waiting for you. You do not belong in the jungles of Zaire. You are made for better things.”

            “But if I was with you, I wouldn’t be afraid; we would be together, and we’d come back together.”

            “Talia.” He put a finger to her lips to silence her. “I will come back. I promise you.”

            “You can’t promise that. You don’t know what will happen out there.”

            Desperate to soothe her, Bane held up the edge of the blanket between them. “Whose blanket is this?”

            “Mama’s,” she said with confusion.

            “And what would she say right now if she were here? She would tell you to think clearly and be brave, to accept the situation and make the best of it. She would not want you tramping through the jungle with me and Jin. What did I promise her?”

            Dejected, Talia muttered, “That you would protect me. But—”

            “No buts. You will be safe, here, with your father and our brothers. And I will fulfill my mission better knowing that. We must both make sacrifices. Our lives are no longer our own. We serve others, not ourselves. It is not an easy lesson, but it’s one you must learn.”

            She sighed in frustration, her shoulders slumping.

            “You have friends here, friends who will help you through any difficult times while I am gone. You have your father.”

            Her lips twisted. “I can’t talk to Papa about you.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because he always tells me that I mustn’t depend on you, or anyone, so much. He says it’s a weakness.”

            “Dependence can be a weakness, yes, but love is not. If you feel you can’t speak to your father about such things, then you can speak to Choden. He will be discreet, and he will understand. Don’t isolate yourself, _habibati_ ; it will change you in negative ways. Increase your meditation while I am gone. Find peace there and strength. Will you try, for me?”

            She frowned and nodded, sniffling.

            “Thank you.” He pressed her tightly to his side once more before releasing her. “Now I must clean my weapons and pack. Would you like to help me?”

            Again she nodded.

            “Good. Then when we are done, I will help you study for a bit before bedtime.”

            This lured a small smile from her. She kissed his mask and hugged him tightly, her mother’s blanket clinging to her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: if you are new to my writing and want to learn more about the original characters in this chapter, like Temujin, and their relationships with Bane and Talia, please read my Child of Darkness trilogy about Bane: Risen from Darkness, Beyond the Shadows, and Into the Fire, found here on Ao3 and also on FanFiction. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

            When Bane lumbered downstairs the next morning, he was surprised by a hot breakfast awaiting him in the common room. Leaving this early, before most of his brothers were up, usually Bane would have only a quick, cold meal. Temujin had arrived just before him and now grinned knowingly at him over top of his steaming coffee cup where he sat at the table.

            With his mask in one hand, Bane set his pack down and asked, “What’s all this?”

            Temujin chuckled and blew on his coffee.

            Just then, from the kitchen, Talia appeared, wearing an apron and carrying another cup and a coffee pot. Behind her came Akar, a Bhutanese boy three years older than Talia. He carried a pitcher of juice with his right hand, the only one he had, for his left arm had been amputated some years ago when he had also lost his left eye, both casualties of a wolf attack, a wolf who had killed the boy’s father and left him an orphan. But even with his multiple handicaps, he was adept in his domestic role. He now smiled sheepishly at Bane as he set down the orange juice, a rarity in these parts.

            “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Bane said, his throaty voice clear and soft without the muffled effect of the mask; he had removed it in his room and injected the usual dose of morphine to see him through the meal. “A hot breakfast to warm our insides on our way down the mountain. Was this your idea, Akar? How did you manage to coerce Talia from her bed? Usually only the point of a blade could stir her so early.”

            The men all laughed, though Akar’s response was tempered, for he adored Talia and would not want to irritate her.

            “It was my idea,” Talia protested. “And it’s not that early, only an hour or so until I would be up anyway.” She set the coffee cup in front of Bane and poured him some of the rich, black brew as he put his mask on the other side of his plate. “But if you are going to tease me, I might just go back to bed.” Talia glanced at him from beneath her beautiful long lashes, an impish smile twitching her lips.

            “Is this all true, Akar?” Temujin asked, reaching for one of Jamyang’s miraculous high-altitude biscuits.

            “Yes, sir.”

            Temujin looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen where the rattle of pots and pans could be heard. “And Jamyang isn’t bothered by Talia invading his domain?”

            “Of course not,” Talia said.

            “I find that hard to believe,” Bane teased.

            “Well,” Talia allowed, “I did promise to help him and Akar with everyone else’s breakfast after you’re done.”

            Bane chuckled. “That sounds more like it. Well, thank you for this. We appreciate it.” He took the mug into his hands to warm them. “You should both eat with us.”

            “I’ve already eaten,” Akar said with a touch of disappointment, for he worshipped Bane and looked for any excuse to spend time with him. Long ago their facial disfigurements had forged a special bond between them, and while some men marginalized Akar because he was only a servant to them, Bane had taken an interest in the boy from his first days at the monastery.

            “I can stay,” Talia said with a brightness that told Bane this had been her plan from the start. She immediately discarded her apron and sat beside him.

            Amused, Temujin waved his fork at her. “Are you going to eat off the table or Bane’s plate?”

            “I’ll get a plate for her,” Akar said and scurried back to the kitchen.

            Bane heard Jamyang scold Akar in Butanese for abandoning him to do all the work for their brothers’ meal, but the chastisement was only half-hearted. Nonetheless, when Akar delivered Talia’s plate, he reluctantly said, “I must get back to the kitchen.”

            “Yes,” Temujin said. “We don’t want that slave driver Jamyang to cut you up for soup, do we?” He grinned across his plate at Bane.

            “Jin,” Talia scolded.

            Akar was not offended, however; he always enjoyed Temujin’s humor. “I wish you both a safe journey,” the young man said.

            They thanked him again, and he hurried away.

            Talia filled her plate: pork, egg crepe, hogay salad and ezay, along with a bowl of red rice porridge and a glass of rosewater lassi.

            “Hmm,” Temujin grunted, eying her mounded plate. “One would think _you_ plan to trek down the mountain today, little one.”

            “That won’t be happening,” Bane said, not looking up from his eggs. “We’ve already discussed that, haven’t we, _habibati_?”

            Talia emitted a small huff. “Yes.”

            After a brief silence between them, Temujin spoke again, this time soberly, “Talia, you must not make it so hard on Bane when he has to leave. He is merely doing his duty, as we all must.”

            “I know,” she mumbled contritely around a mouthful of porridge.

            Bane momentarily put his arm around her, hugged her to his side. “It’s all right, _habibati_.”

            Temujin continued, “I know it’s difficult, for both of you. But you mustn’t worry. I will bring Bane back to you, safe and sound.”

            Talia smiled in appreciation, and her cheeks grew pink. “I know you will, Jin.” She dipped a hand into her tunic pocket and withdrew a small elephant carved out of ivory. The talisman had been a gift from Temujin when he had rejoined the League after avenging his wife’s murder. “I’ll carry this with me every day you’re gone. It’ll keep you both safe.”

            “Thank you, _üyerkhsen_ ,” Temujin said.

            For the rest of their meal, Bane did his best to keep conversation light, focusing on Talia, testing her with questions to prepare her for Sangye’s exam today. Though he wanted to draw out their time together, Temujin kept reminding him to eat up by occasionally waving his fork toward Bane’s plate.

            When they finished their breakfast, Temujin stood, and Bane reached for his mask. Talia stopped him with a quick hand on his arm.

            “Wait,” she said, “before you put the mask on.”

            “What, _habibati_?”

            Talia reached up to take his battered face in her hands. He smiled; she was the only person who ever touched him there now. She offered a small, sad smile then kissed his scarred lips, as she used to kiss him when he was whole in prison, as if he now looked no different than he had before the beating. It was not often that she had a private moment with him when he did not wear the apparatus, but whenever she did, she always made a point in caressing his face in one way or another. Such moments he treasured, for he felt human then, and loved.

            With the mask back on, he gathered up his pack and followed Temujin from the common room, Talia beside him, holding his hand. On their way through the monastery they passed a couple of early risers, but no one offered the departing more than a respectful nod. Leave-taking was common here, and sometimes those who left never returned, but to everyone there it was merely all part of a normal day.

            The trio said nothing until they passed through the candlelit Great Hall and came to the anteroom. Candles by the dozens lit the space and brightened the two large wooden doors that blocked out the dazzling white of the mountain snows beyond. There Bane set down his pack and turned to Talia, who now looked miserable, chewing her bottom lip, her eyes beseeching him to stay.

            “ _Habibati_ ,” he said softly. “You must let go of my hand.”

            Her gaze lowered, and she slowly freed him, her arm dropping limp to her side, as if all of her strength had left her after breaking their connection. Bane shrugged into his heavy parka then knelt on one knee before her. He took Talia’s face in his hands and smiled behind the mask, the expression tugging at the corners of his eyes.

            “Promise me you will not neglect your studies while I am gone,” he said.

            She frowned. “I won’t.”

            He playfully tapped her nose. “Good girl.”

            Talia’s finger trailed over his mask. “I dreamt about Mama last night.”

            “I hope it was a good dream.”

            “Yes. She told me she would watch over you.”

            “Well, that is a pleasant thought. She was trying to comfort you.”

            “Yes. Are you taking her blanket with you?”

            “No. It is safer here, and there will be little need for a blanket where I am going. You must put it on your bed while I am gone.”

            “Can I sleep in your bed instead?”

            “That’s up to your father, but he will no doubt frown upon it, so I don’t recommend asking him, _habibati_.” Her deepening disappointment tugged at him, so he added, “However, if you do, you may tell him that I gave you permission.”

            Near a whisper, she said, “Thank you,” as her finger dropped away from the mask.

            “Promise me you will obey your father and your teachers, and that you won’t go to the glacier alone.”

            She nodded and sniffled once.

            Bane nodded back and leaned his forehead against hers, a familiar gesture between them, as intimate as the farewell kiss his mask denied.

            “I will be back soon, little mouse,” he said, his voice growing hoarse and low. “Don’t worry.”

            He took her in his arms, and she clung to him but did not cry, though he could feel her struggle for strength and resolve. Parting, they touched foreheads briefly, then Bane got to his feet.

            “ _Bayartai gej_ , Jin,” Talia said as she embraced the Mongol.

            “Good-bye, _üyerkhsen_.”

            Donning hat and gloves, Bane held Talia’s gaze a final time before pulling up his wolf fur-fringed hood. Her face was drawn and grave but unmoving now, steeled against the inevitable. Only her lips betrayed her with the tiniest quiver. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the harsh, cold world beyond.

#

            Talia gnawed on her bottom lip as she watched her tutor’s red pencil glide along the words she had written on her exam. She realized her foot was tapping against the floor beneath the table, another physical manifestation of her anxiety over her score, a weakness she did not want Sangye to notice. So she went to the hearth to throw a log on the fire.

            She crouched before the crackling flames for a long moment, relishing its heat, absently prodding the wood with a poker, trying to forget about Sangye’s silent, authoritative presence and the displeased frown on his face. Her sapphire eyes closed, she steadied her breathing, centered herself as she had been taught to do to reclaim calmness, then opened her eyes again. Now she saw only the dancing fire, and she was transported back in time to the pit prison, to the fires she used to tend there in their brazier—Bane and hers, in their shared cell. Their main source of fuel had been charcoal, but occasionally they had scraps of wood to burn. She loved those times, for—unlike charcoal—the wood provided a more animated display, with tongues flashing out like a snake’s, writhing and waltzing like a living thing, a living thing that favored her with warmth like her mother’s arms had once done.

            Bane’s arms, his loving embrace, had replaced her mother’s. She had always reveled in their strength and power, but secretly she had missed—and still longed for—the softness of her mother’s embrace. Even now, nearly eight years after her death, Talia could still remember her touch. It both haunted and consoled her. She never mentioned this to either Bane or her father, for she did not want to hurt their feelings by making them feel inadequate. After all, they did their best for her, the best men could do for a girl.

            Talia had had little exposure to women, but what little she had had left a lasting, indelible impression upon her. First, of course, had been her mother, and though Talia had only been five years old when her parent had been raped and murdered by a gang of prison inmates, she had vivid memories of the beautiful woman who had given her life. Memories of a selfless, compassionate person who used to tell her stories of her mysterious father, a man who had been more of a dream to Talia than a reality. When her mother had been killed, Talia remembered the vacuum that had consumed her, the feeling of utter nakedness and vulnerability, like a butterfly ripped from its chrysalis too early. A horror from which she knew she could never truly recover. For five long years afterwards, she had not seen another woman, and had continued her life under the disguise of a boy until the day of her escape when she had foolishly and impulsively revealed her true gender to another prisoner, a mistake that had nearly cost Bane his life and had condemned him to an existence of physical torment and disfigurement. A tragedy for which she would never forgive herself.

            Following her escape, she had searched for her grandmother, Maysam, utilizing the information her own mother had ingrained upon her. Such a search had brought her into contact with a couple of women who assisted her, and in their eyes she had seen a benevolence that she realized only women had, something instinctual that went far beyond the emotional capacity of men. And when she had been united with her grandmother, she experienced that unique connection that had been lost the day her own mother had died. When her grandparent had first embraced her, Talia had wept for a long time, tears that she had withheld even when she had seen the other prisoners attack Bane and take him down at the bottom of the shaft while she climbed to freedom. In her grandmother’s arms, grief for both Bane and her mother had flooded her, as well as relief for having found someone who could again make her feel safe, who could hold her as her mother used to do.

            “Talia,” Sangye’s voice drew her back to her room.

            With a sigh, she responded, “Yes?”

            “Come back to the table.”

            Frowning with reluctance, she obeyed, padding across the room on bare feet, trying to deny the chill that prodded them. She regained her seat across the study table from her tutor and forced herself to meet his disappointed brown gaze. Sangye was middle-aged, a wise Tibetan who had once been a Buddhist monk. Now he was Talia’s main teacher and had also instructed Bane since their arrival here in the mountains. Though he kept a professional distance from his pupils, Talia knew the square-faced, bespectacled man cared for her and took great pride in her academic accomplishments. In turn, she did her best to please him. But today was not one of those days.

            Sangye slid her exam papers across the table to her. They were crisscrossed with red marks and strident, challenging comments. “This is very unlike you, child,” he said sternly.

            Talia knew better than to apologize or make excuses; her tutor would never allow such weaknesses. So instead she bowed her head, prepared to absorb whatever chastisement was coming, knowing she deserved it.

            But Sangye said nothing more until she raised her head out of curiosity.

            “I should have known better than to test you today,” he frowned. “But I had hoped your concentration skills would outweigh your distractions. Unfortunately, I was wrong.” He gestured to the exam. “The pages bleed red, do they not?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Were you not prepared? Have I failed you as your teacher?”

            “No, sir,” she hastened to assure, fearful of dishonoring him. Yet she could see in his eyes that he already knew the reason behind her failure; not that it would make her behavior acceptable, however. No, he wanted her to own her fallibilities, to voice them, to have them witnessed so the sting would last longer.

            “Then tell me the reason behind your lack of focus, child.”

            Talia hesitated. She loathed admitting any kind of flaw or weakness. Life in prison had taught her never to reveal such things; they were dangerous if known to others. But, she reminded herself, Sangye already knew.

            “I’m worried about Bane.”

            “And why is that?”

            Surprised by his question, she quickly replied, “He left on another mission this morning.”

            “Indeed he did.”

            “Oh…well, the way you asked…I thought maybe you didn’t know.”

            “Of course I did. Even without knowing this from Bane himself, I would have known simply by your demeanor this morning. But you have not answered my question—why are you worried about Bane?”

            Confused, she gave her head a slight shake. “Why wouldn’t I be? He’s going someplace dangerous, to find a dangerous man.”

            “Is Bane not thoroughly trained? Have you doubts about Temujin’s methods?”

            “No…I mean, yes; yes about Bane’s training; and no about Jin.” She sighed in frustration and scowled at Sangye’s tactics.

            “Then you have nothing to worry about, nothing to take your focus off your studies. Yet,” he gestured again to the papers in front of her, “here we are. I have never seen worse from you. What I see there is more than worry. It is anger.”

            Talia wanted to get up from her chair and flee the room, but she knew there was no escape. Even if she was foolish enough to disrespect her teacher by doing so, her father would hear of it, and then matters would only be worse; she could lose privileges, as well as their esteem.

            “Both of those emotions are worthless and wasteful,” Sangye continued. “Look what they have done, what you have allowed them to do—rob you of your focus. You know the importance of focus, both here in the classroom as well as in the dojo. Lack of focus can lead to your destruction and the destruction of others around you. These are selfish emotions, ones you must conquer.”

            The image of Bane from this morning, kneeling before her, their eyes locked, his hands cupping her face reared up before her, caused her to look away from her teacher. The tears she had denied then made an unexpected appearance now, and she hurried away from the table to try to conceal them.

            “Love isn’t a selfish emotion,” Talia countered. “I love Bane…and Jin. I want them to come back because I love them. I won’t let you make me feel bad for that.”

            “I am not telling you not to love, Talia. I am saying don’t let love lead you down paths that can be destructive. Your love has led to anxiety. That can erode you from the inside. Here in the classroom anxiety leads only to red marks on a paper and strong words from me, but in the dojo it can lead to injury and defeat. And later, if it remains with you when you go out into the world to serve the League, it can be the end of you. _That_ is what I’m trying to make you understand.”

            Standing in front of the fire again, Talia recovered her control. “I’ll take the exam again. I will do better, I promise.”

            “Yes, you will.” Sangye left the table and came to stand next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders, surprising her, for he was not a demonstrative person; few were here in the monastery. “But not today. Today I will leave you to study and reflect on your own. Then tomorrow I will test you again.”

            She brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her face, studying the comforting fire. “You won’t tell Papa, will you?”

            “I only share what he asks me to share; I never offer, but neither will I deny answers to any of his questions. I must obey him, as we are all bound.”

            Resigned, she nodded.

            “Very well then. I will leave you. And I will tell Lao not to expect you in the dojo today.”

            Now she turned with urgent despair. “No, please, I want to train. I need to—”

            Sangye’s arm fell away from her and his other hand displayed a rebuking finger. “Do you deserve such a privilege after your failure this morning?”

            Her shoulders slumped, and she mumbled, “No, sir.”

            “Indeed.” His hand swept toward the table, and he waited until she returned to her chair with her books in front of her before he left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

            Talia listened to the dying wind against the windows of her bedroom and thought of Temujin and Bane, wondered where they were, how far they had gone in their journey. Then she returned her attention to the letter to her grandmother and wrote down her thoughts on the matter as she sat in bed, propped up by several pillows, a textbook across her thighs acting as a desk. Her mother’s blanket covered her legs; this and a fire blazing in the hearth kept the evening’s chill at bay.

            She wrote to Maysam regularly, her letters carried off the mountain by various League members leaving on missions, including her father, to reach their final destination in Rajasthan, India, through a variety of channels that ensured the letters’ origin was untraceable. This was not the only secret aspect of her correspondence. Though Maysam knew the letter-writer to be her own grandchild, the writer’s familial connection was unknown to anyone else who might read the letter. And, of course, there was always someone else who read it before Maysam, not the least of which was Talia’s grandfather, Siddig El Fadil.

            Siddig knew nothing of his granddaughter’s existence, having been unaware of Melisande’s pregnancy when he had condemned her to the pit prison following her marriage to Henri Ducard. When Talia had located her grandmother, Maysam wisely kept her husband from learning the truth and continued to do so in order to ensure Talia’s safety from the vengeful warlord, who would not be pleased to learn that Ducard’s seed lived and might one day bring shame upon his family. So whenever Talia wrote to her grandmother, she did so as a poor orphan girl, a grateful beneficiary, whom Maysam had once saved from a life of slavery and poverty. Through their clever code words Talia could tell her about life with her father without incriminating him. In her letters Bane was a brother called Haris, an Arabic name meaning protector, which Maysam had bestowed upon him when she had met him years ago.

            Talia paused in her writing to reach for a framed photograph that sat on her nightstand, next to Temujin’s ivory elephant. Smiling, she held the picture before her, admiring her grandmother’s dark beauty, so like Melisande in many features. The sight of her, the memory of Maysam’s strength of character, eased some of Talia’s sadness.

            Her thoughts drifted back to the last time she had seen her grandparent. It was the day before her father came to claim her. Since contacting her kin after her escape, Talia had been secreted in a village not far from the palace compound where Melisande had grown up. Her grandmother had visited her three times during the two weeks Talia had been there, doing so at great risk to herself, her journeys concealed from her husband. When she came for the final time, fear had gripped Talia, the fear of again losing a maternal guardian. She knew little of her father, only what her mother and grandmother had told her, and she could tell that Maysam did not like her son-in-law. Of course Talia never asked why, nor did Maysam expound, but Talia figured it was simply because Henri Ducard’s insertion into her life and her daughter’s life had ultimately led to Melisande’s suffering and murder and thus the suffering of Maysam’s only grandchild. So when Maysam held her for the last time and kissed her goodbye, Talia had wept, though she had tried not to do so, for she knew her grandmother did not want to leave her, that she would have taken her into her own home if there had been any safe way to manage it.

            “You mustn’t be afraid, _habibati_ ,” Maysam said, wiping away Talia’s tears with her _hijab_. “Your father will be here tomorrow. He’s very excited to meet you. He will love you, I promise. How could he not?”

            “What if I don’t like him?”

            “You will. Your mother loved him very much, so you will, too.”

            “What if I don’t? Could I come back here? I could stay with this family again, and you could come visit me.”

            Maysam kissed Talia’s forehead. “I wish you could, my child, but it’s not safe for you or for the people here who are safeguarding you. And it’s not right to be away from your family. As your father, Henri has the right of guardianship over you. But we will see each other again, I promise you. And we will write to one another all the time, won’t we?”

            “Yes, _Jiddah_ ,” she murmured sadly, her fingers absently playing with the _hijab_ as they used to do with Bane’s _shemagh_. “If Papa doesn’t go back to the prison to look for Bane, will you?”

            “Your father will do anything you want him to, believe me, and that includes rescuing Bane.”

            “What if he’s dead?” The tears tried to rally.

            “You mustn’t think that. We both know he is strong.”

            “But there were so many men. It was horrible. I didn’t want to leave him like that.”

            “There was nothing else you could have done, Talia. And he would not have wanted you to try. He wanted you to be free. That’s why he sacrificed himself. You must honor him for that. And when you see him again you will tell him this: whatever he needs, whatever he wants, he can always come to me, no matter what. I will never deny him.”

            They had held each other a final time, long and tight, both crying by then, crying for each other, crying for Melisande, for Bane.

            For the rest of the day, Talia had remained alone, lying on her mat in the room she shared with the children of the family who billeted her, children who were discreetly kept away while she mourned the departure of her grandmother and nursed her hopes and fears of her father’s arrival.

            The following morning, she ate little. The hours slipped by as she waited in her room, wondering if her father truly would come for her.

            The sunlight through the window, the voices of children playing in the street eventually stirred her, and she wandered outside to sit with her back to the earthen wall of the tiny house. There she watched the children of her host family and those of the neighborhood kick around a ball. They knew better than to invite her to play, for she had wanted nothing to do with them since her arrival. To Talia, they were noisy and uncouth, and truth be told they frightened her. They were what she was supposed to be, but she knew not how to be like them, and was not convinced that she wanted to. She wanted only Bane for companionship. She could not stop seeing him that final time when the attacking inmates had ripped the _shemagh_ from his face, revealing his final goodbye upon his full, sweet lips. That was the face she truly saw before her then, not the laughing, shrieking, scuffling village children.

            Shortly before noon a vehicle appeared down the street, a street where few cars passed during the day; most of the traffic were people on foot or bicycles. Anxiety and anticipation pulled Talia to her feet, and the children playing in the street snatched up their ball and dispersed to either side to allow the SUV to pass. The white, battered SUV came to a halt in front of the house. Two men inside—one behind the wheel, the other sitting on the passenger side. The children returned to their game.

            Talia’s fingers pressed against the wall behind her as she peered through the windshield of the SUV. The men were looking at her, but she could not see details through the dirty windshield and the dust swirling around her that the vehicle had stirred up. Fear stilled her breath, and her instincts from the pit told her to run, told her that all men but Bane were inherently bad and wanted nothing more than to harm her as her mother had been harmed.

            As if sensing her nearness to flight, the passenger hastened out of the SUV. He did not, however, rush toward her. Instead he moved forward only as far as the front bumper of the vehicle, his eyes locked with hers, his long arms hanging loose at his sides. He was one of the biggest men she had ever seen, someone who would have dwarfed her mother, as he now dwarfed her. Was this her father? She tried to remember her mother’s description from years ago and her grandmother’s from when she had last seen him ten years ago.

            When Talia retreated a step, he lifted one hand to stay her escape and spoke her name, his face softening with hope as he did so. His blue-gray eyes seemed to spark with recognition, and she realized he was seeing his wife in her.

            Talia tried to say, “Papa?” but her suddenly-dry throat strangled her.

            “Talia.” Warily he took a couple of steps toward her as his hand went to his chest. “I’m Henri Ducard. I’m your father. Don’t be afraid.”

            “I’m not afraid,” she said without hesitation. Her response was a lie, an instinctive one, the one Bane had taught her long ago in the pit to say to any inmate who tried to intimidate her. But back then Bane had been at her side. Now her protector was lost, a void she could feel like a frigid breeze. Never before had Talia experienced vulnerability such as this.

            Her declaration brought a small smile to her father’s lips. “Of course you aren’t. No doubt you are as brave as your mother.”

            The invocation of Melisande chipped away at Talia’s distrust. A part of her wanted to run to him, as she had always imagined she would when this day arrived. But without Bane here, she was overpowered by colliding emotions, colliding worlds.

            Her father crouched down, making himself smaller to her, all the while smiling invitingly, hand outstretched. “I came as quickly as I could when I heard the news from your grandmother. Why don’t you fetch your things, and we will be on our way?”

            “I don’t have any _things_.”

            “Very well. I have a room at a hotel not far from here. There are clothes for you there. And anything else you may desire. You need rest before our journey home.”

            “Home?”

            “Yes, your new home with me. It will be a long journey, so you must be strong enough to undertake it.”

            “But we have to help Bane first.”

            “Bane? Ah, yes; your friend in prison.”

            She nodded, took two steps toward him before halting. “We have to rescue him.”

            “But your grandmother said she fears him dead.”

            “He’s not dead!” She wondered if Maysam had truly speculated such a thing to him, for she certainly had never breathed a word of doubt to her. “He’s not. I know it. We must help him.”

            Her father’s thin lips pressed together, and Talia could see that he did not believe her.

            Another step closer. “Please…Papa.”

            His outstretched hand returned to his thigh, and his expression softened with emotion. “Of course, child. I had planned on you directing me to the prison, so the men who harmed your mother can pay for their crimes. I will find your friend and help him in any way I can.”

            For the first time since escaping the pit, Talia felt a weight lifted from her, and as she looked into her father’s welcoming eyes, she no longer felt alone. She went to him then, not headlong but with resolute steps until at last she was in his arms. His embrace was strong like Bane’s, his scent much different, overpowering in its newness. But the longer he held her, the tighter she gripped him, afraid that if she let go, he would disappear like a dying dream and Bane would be gone forever.

             “Talia,” her father’s voice drew her back to the present, to her bedroom. He knocked, as he did every night around this time, come to kiss her good night. “Are you awake?”

            Frowning, Talia set her grandmother’s picture beside her on the bed. She did not answer her father right away. All day she had avoided him, still angry with him for sending Bane on another mission so soon after the last one and worried that he had heard about her poor performance on her exam.

            “Talia?”

            She sighed. “I’m awake, Papa.”

            “May I come in?”

            Though accepting the inevitable, she hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

            Her father entered, dressed in his usual dark clothing, lacking only his boots, now wearing instead soft-soled shoes. As he came toward her, his smile was tentative, his eyes searching like the first time they had met, and she knew that he sensed something was wrong. As usual he sat on the edge of her mattress closest to the fire. He picked up the picture of Maysam and set it back on the nightstand.

            “You are writing to her?”

            “Yes.” Talia refused to meet his gaze. “Must you read it?”

            “No,” he said, his voice soft, the voice he used only with her. “You are mature enough now for me to trust that you will not accidentally reveal too much in your correspondence.” He rested his hand on her leg, on the blanket he had given to his wife. “You are no longer a child. You are a young woman whose privacy I will respect.”

            His words filled her with pride, but still she did not lift her attention from her letter. “Thank you, Papa.”

            A silence slipped between them, disturbed only by the crackling fire.

            “When I went to the dojo today to watch you train, Lao said Sangye told him you would not be there.”

            Talia swallowed, wished she had a glass of water. “Did you talk to Sangye?”

            “No. I decided to wait and talk to you. I thought it best if you were the one to tell me why your physical training was neglected.” His index finger tipped her chin up; she knew he hated it when she avoided looking at him. “So…tell me.”

            She sighed again, knew it was useless. “I did poorly on my exam, so Sangye told me I had to study all day so I can take the test again tomorrow.”

            “And why did you do poorly? That is very unlike you.”

            “I just…couldn’t concentrate.”

            “What hindered you?”

            Talia figured he knew and that he was just testing her as Sangye had. Their tactics irritated her, but she knew being evasive would get her nowhere with her persistent parent. “I keep thinking about Bane.”

            “Why?”

            “Why? Because I miss him. I thought we would have more time together before you sent him back out into the field.”

            Now it was her father’s turn to sigh. He shook his head.

            “There’s no need to lecture me, Papa,” she grumbled. “Sangye already did. I will study harder.”

            Her father gently took her textbook, letter, and pen and put them on the nightstand. She steeled herself for what was to come because she knew her entreaty would not stop him from trying to impart some wisdom upon her.

            “Do you know why I sent Bane away so soon after his last assignment?”

            Shaking her head, Talia crossed her arms to discourage him from taking her hand in an effort to placate her.

            “Because of you,” he said.

            “Me?”

            His hand grew heavier upon the blanket. “As I said a minute ago, you are no longer a child. It is time you leave your childhood behind. Bane is a part of that world. You must let him become who he was meant to become. And it is time you separate yourself from him so you may also grow and fulfill your destiny.”

            “Whatever my destiny is, Papa, Bane will be a part of it.”

            “Bane is a foot soldier, Talia. You are heir to the Demon. Bane is no more your equal than he is mine. You are meant for greater things. You must recognize and embrace that. As a soldier, Bane will understand.”

            “You’re being unfair to him, Papa. Bane is more than a soldier. He always will be. He’s my friend, my protector.”

            For an instant her father’s hand gripped her leg almost painfully. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his eyes darkened to a stormy blue like hers. “You no longer have a need for Bane’s protection. And he no longer has time to fulfill such a role; I will see to that. Your protection comes from me, and once I am gone it will come from the League.”

            “You’re jealous, Papa,” she wielded the words like a weapon, voicing what she had suspected for a long time, having waited for just such a moment to use it.

            “And you are mistaken, Talia,” he said calmly. “The difference between my view of Bane and yours is that I do not allow my passions to rule me, not in this, not in anything else. It is a lesson you must learn in time, and this is the beginning of that lesson. When Bane returns, I will discuss this with him as well, so he understands what I expect of him.”

            “What do you mean? You can’t keep us apart.”

            “I will not isolate you, no. But there will be a gradual separation. There must be.”

            “No.”

            “I have accompanied Bane on two missions, as you know. He has a natural aptitude for such work. He has gained confidence and knowledge from just those two assignments. If you truly care about him, you will let him explore his new-found purpose and freedom. You cannot keep him hooded and caged like your falcon; you must allow him to fly, as he wishes to.”

            “He doesn’t want to leave me.”

            “Of course not, but he has been fully initiated into the League and knows his obligations, both professionally and personally; he knows he owes me a debt for rescuing him. Don’t dishonor him by taking away his ability to repay that debt. Bane wants to prove himself. Can’t you see that, Talia? He did not complain about being sent back into the field.”

            “Of course not. He would never say such things to you; he respects you too much.”

            “Has he said it to you?”

            “No. He’s not someone who complains, ever. He’s the bravest man I know.” She stared challengingly at him, hoping the remark hurt but unable to tell.

            “As I said, I will not isolate you from him; that is, unless your studies continue to suffer.” He raised an emphasizing eyebrow at her. “However, I expect you not to complain or carry on when he leaves the next time, not to him or anyone else. You do realize, of course, that I could assign him to any other region of the world; he would not return here between missions.”

            She paled at the thought but somehow managed to keep calm. “You wouldn’t do that to me, Papa. Tell me you wouldn’t be so cruel to us.”

            “You see it as cruelty. I see it as a potential necessity. That is where your immaturity shows itself. Every decision I make is for the good of the League. As much as I know separating you from Bane would hurt you and thus would hurt me personally, I am prepared to do what’s necessary to ensure the success of every one of our operatives.” His expression hardened even more. “You are Bane’s friend, yes; but you are my daughter first.”

            “You don’t understand us, Papa,” she sulked. “You _can’t_ understand. You weren’t there in the pit with me and Bane and Mama. He was more than a friend to me, more than a friend to Mama.”

            “Talia.” This time he could not completely conceal his anger—his eyes shone darkly, his nostrils flared, his jaw tightened. “I understand more than you believe. You have used this weapon against me in the past; this will be the last time. Do you understand? I failed your mother, I failed you. It was not done on purpose. I will take that failure to my grave. You don’t need to remind me how another man stepped into my place and protected my family.”

            Though finally cowed, Talia would not apologize, for she was not sorry that she had wounded him. Her only concession to his authority was to lower her gaze and uncross her arms. Her fingers played restlessly with the blanket’s fringe.

            Her father stood and spoke tersely. “I will leave you to your letter now. And tomorrow I expect to hear of better results from Sangye.”

            He remained there until she murmured, “Yes, Papa,” then he strode from the room without another word…and without a good night kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

            Ever since he was a child, Bane had a voracious desire for knowledge. In the pit, his curiosity often led him into trouble with other inmates, but such consequences never dampened his endless search for ways to stimulate his mind. He had read every book available in prison multiple times, and through conversations with other prisoners he gleaned more information about the world of light beyond the mouth of the huge shaft. Then, after his rescue, his thirst for knowledge drove him to excel in his studies with the League. Rā’s al Ghūl always insisted that his men be just as skilled mentally as they were physically, and Bane was happy to comply.

            After Bane’s escape, he quickly realized that all the books ever written could never have prepared him for the cruelty that lay beyond his new home in the mountains. He initially tasted this reality shortly after he came to Bhutan, when he had recovered enough from his injuries to search for his father and the man responsible for the imprisonment of Bane’s mother—his grandfather. After Rā’s had located Bane’s grandfather, Bane had taken the arrogant bastard to the pit prison to experience a taste of its horrors, then had killed him. He had had mercy on his father, for Edmund Dorrance had been completely unaware of his wife’s fate and the existence of his son. Bane’s purpose in finding his father was to inform him of the lie perpetrated to make him believe the love of his life had died in a car accident, and to tell him that she had never stopped loving him. Of course Bane had a secret hope that his father would welcome him and desire a relationship, but such an outcome had not materialized. Bane told himself it was for the best because he could remain with Talia, yet his father’s apathy deeply wounded him.

            During his familial quest and his first two missions, Bane had seen nothing that endeared humanity to him. He had expected criminality, violence, and hatred to be limited to the minority, but from what he experienced and observed those things were as prevalent in the outside world as they had been in the pit. Man had no regard for anyone or anything but himself. Children and women were victimized. Poverty was rampant. Corruption and greed pervasive.

            “Now you can truly understand why the League of Shadows must exist,” Rā’s had told him. “It is the League’s responsibility to restore justice and balance wherever we can. Legal systems and governments are powerless to affect true order, riddled as they are by corruption of their own.”

            With such ideals in mind, Bane now looked forward to locating his next target, Joseph Mutara. His only disappointment—and surprise—was the directive not to kill the man once found. Anyone who used children as a means to an end deserved death, and Bane would have enjoyed being the one to terminate the man’s miserable life. But, he reminded himself, he needed to learn subordination, something he had never suffered under in prison. There he had been his own man, answering to no one. During his first two missions, he had found himself chafing under the direction of another, yet because Rā’s had been his commander he had been better able to accept his role. Though he accepted and greatly respected Temujin as his supervising officer now, Bane already anticipated the day when he would be in a position of authority.

            “Bane, are you asleep?” Temujin’s voice. Bane cracked his eyes open to find his mentor bent over him where he was reclined in the airplane seat. “We’ll be landing in twenty minutes. You’ll want to replenish your mask before then.”

            As Temujin returned to his seat, Bane rubbed his eyes and stretched; he had not been asleep, merely thinking. He used the electronic controls to return his chair to an upright position.

            Earlier, when he had been sleeping, Temujin’s snoring had awoke him at a most inopportune time—he had been dreaming about Melisande, something he had not done for a while. Surely Talia speaking of her mother before he had departed the League’s base had prompted the dream. It made him smile to think of Talia’s recent dream of Melisande wherein her mother had promised to safeguard him. Bane did not view such assistance as divine intervention, for he had no belief in the divine, but he liked to think Melisande indeed did have some way of staying close to him even from the grave. The idea gave him confidence and strength for his mission.

            He looked out one of the private jet’s windows. Late afternoon light, the lowering sun far out on the horizon. It had been a long journey—first by land, then by air—and he looked forward to seeing the green forests and jungles of Zaire, yet another new landscape for his young eyes. For many hours after his briefing with Rā’s, he had studied not only the target’s dossier but everything he could about Zaire, particularly its geography, as well as additional information about the Rwandan genocide and the men who had perpetrated it, refreshing his memory. He felt as prepared as he could, eager to have his boots on the ground, moving forward.

            For a moment, as the jet flew low over the savanna on its approach to Kolwezi Airport, Bane allowed his thoughts to return to Talia. He missed her, as he had during his previous missions. She had seen even less of the world than he, so he wished now that she were looking out the small window with him, taking in the green vista and chattering with excitement, her eyes shining.

            “There is only one thing that makes you smile like that,” Temujin said from the seat facing him.

            Bane turned from the window, surprised by Temujin’s observation because of course the mask blocked any view of his mouth from his friend, and in profile Temujin could have seen only his right eye.

            “Think of her now,” Temujin said, “but once you step off this plane, your thoughts must be on the mission only.”

            “I know, Jin,” Bane gently chided.

            Temujin grunted skeptically. “And you brought nothing of her, correct? No picture or keepsake? She didn’t slip something to you before we left?”

            “Of course not. I know my orders. I have nothing on me that could connect us.”

            “Just making sure.”

            “I may be green, Jin, but I’m no fool.”

            “No, I didn’t accuse you of that…yet.” Temujin could not stifle a small, teasing grin.

            Bane turned back to the window. “I was just wishing that she could see more of the world. It’s almost as if she’s traded one prison for another.”

            “You can’t look at it that way, Bane. There will come a day when both you and Talia may wish she had never seen the outside world and all the harshness it holds. True, there is beauty; I have seen it myself, during those years with my wife, but I’m afraid we in the League frequent less peaceful places than my old valley home.”

            “I would like to see your valley.”

            “I will take you there one day.”

            The idea pleased Bane, not just because he was curious about all things and places, but because he realized Temujin’s vow showed how much his mentor trusted and esteemed him. They had known each other for nearly two years now, and though they were close friends, Temujin rarely spoke about his past life, particularly his family life before his wife’s murder. Bane had first heard the story of her death when they had met in prison, after Temujin had revealed his connection to one Henri Ducard, a revelation that had overjoyed Talia and amazed Bane. Temujin’s reticence on the subject of his family since then had been understandable, for Bane easily sensed the pain it caused his friend, a pain similar to his over Melisande’s death and his inability to prevent it. So he had never pressed Temujin, even though he was indeed keenly interested. The prospect of Temujin willingly returning to the village where he had lived with his wife’s family told Bane that his friend was beginning to heal. Bane wondered if he would ever recover in a similar way from Melisande’s death.

            Once they had landed and taxied toward a hangar, Bane saw an African man standing near the structure.

            “Is that Zakuani?” Bane asked Temujin as he stared out the window.

            “Yes.”

            Zakuani was of medium build, dressed in pale tan pants and white shirt that billowed slightly in the breeze, the sun glinting against his shaved head. During the journey Bane had learned what he could from Temujin about the thirty-three-year-old, for Temujin had worked with him once before, another reason why the Mongol had been picked for this assignment. Zakuani had been with the League for seven years. He had been born in Zaire and spoke the four national languages: Kituba, Lingala, Swahili, and Tshiluba, as well as English and French.

            “Don’t let his easy nature fool you,” Temujin had warned. “He is a deadly fighter. His whole family was murdered in front of him when he was a child. He survived only by playing dead. He tracked those men down when he was only a boy still, and he killed every one of them with only a knife and a machete.”

            Thinking of Melisande’s death, Bane again regretted that he had been unable to exact the same type of personal revenge for her. But at least he had been allowed to enjoy the dying screams of Melisande’s murderers when her husband had arrived in the pit and exterminated them all.

            Bane and Temujin left most of their belongings stowed on the jet, for they would be returning to it in the morning to fly farther in-country. So Bane stepped onto the apron carrying only a light backpack slung over his shoulder, following Temujin. He found the weather pleasant and comfortable. Here in the southern part of Zaire, temperatures were more moderate on average than to the north where the land was more heavily-forested.

            Zakuani had not moved from the spot where Bane had first seen him, nor did he raise a hand in recognition or greeting. His expression was stolid except for a hint of interest in his dark eyes as he studied Bane’s mask. He showed no surprise; Zakuani would have done his homework on the League men who would be joining him on this assignment.

            “Good to see you again, brother,” Temujin said as he shook Zakuani’s hand.

            “And you as well, brother.” A hint of a white, blunt-toothed smile tempered the African’s expression, laconically spreading his thick, broad lips. His nose was broad as well, these two wide features giving his eyes the illusion of being close-set. His nostrils flared slightly when his attention shifted back to Bane.

            Temujin stepped slightly to the side as he reached for Bane’s shoulder and rested an almost possessive hand there. “This is Bane. As you know, he is new to our ranks.”

            There was slight hesitation before Zakuani offered his hand, his smile more perfunctory now. “You are fortunate to have Temujin as your supervising officer, my friend.”

            “Yes. Yes, I am.” Bane glanced at Temujin who grinned proudly and patted his shoulder.

            “Come,” Zakuani said, gesturing toward a battered white Toyota parked nearby. “Let us get out of the sun. We have but a short journey to my home.”

            Kolwezi Airport was just southeast of the city itself, a mining town of over 400,000 people. The state-run Gécamines was Zaire’s largest mining company, an open pit operation west of Kolwezi that once produced hundreds of thousands of tons of copper and cobalt each year. But social unrest as well as economic issues had contributed to tougher times for the company here in the 1990’s, and production was but a fraction of the mine’s glory days in the 1980’s. Zakuani worked there when he was not on assignment with the League. Such an occupation provided him with the double life that many of their brethren shared in communities around the world, work that also gave access to important regional information, both economic and political.

            Zakuani’s home was only minutes from the airport in a neighborhood with a hodgepodge of dwellings, some tight together, some spaced, some single-family, some buildings—like Zakuani’s—made up of several apartments. Sparse trees provided limited shade in places. Dirt streets with few cars and a colorful variety of people, some walking, some on bicycles, scatterings of children playing, children who made Bane think of Talia and how she had no playmates her own age. But he remembered Temujin’s admonition to put her out of his thoughts once he was on the ground, and he did his best to conform.

            The building they arrived at was two stories, with Zakuani’s residence on the upper floor. They parked in the rear, in a small, cluttered courtyard, devoid of anyone except an old woman sitting outside a door, holding a crying baby.

            “You will get inside quickly,” Zakuani instructed. “The fewer people who see you, the better. They will be suspicious of you both because of your appearances, because you are outsiders. Let us not feed their curiosity, yes? The fewer questions they ask me, the better.”

            Bane obeyed, following their host up a rickety flight of stairs and down a short, musty hallway. The smell of cooking greeted him as Zakuani opened the door and stood back for his two guests to enter.

            The space was cramped but neat, with worn furniture, an old television in a corner by the single window that looked out upon the courtyard, and a couple well-traveled rugs on the floor. Two other rooms led off this one—one was the kitchen with a small table against one wall, the other perhaps a bedroom, the door closed. To Bane’s surprise, he saw a woman in the kitchen, standing over a pot on the stove, from which steam arose. She turned when she heard Bane’s booted feet and stepped into the doorway, wiping her hands on a rag. There she stopped abruptly, her gaze latched upon Bane’s mask. But she managed to quickly hide the alarm that had instantly jumped across her countenance.

            Bane did not realize he was staring at her until Temujin jostled him—intentionally or not, Bane did not know—as he unslung his small pack and set it in a corner near the door. The woman, who appeared around the same age as Zakuani, offered Bane a tentative smile. He knew not what to say or do, surprised not only to find someone besides Zakuani here but to find a woman. Why had Temujin not mentioned her? Perhaps the Mongol was as unsuspecting as he.

            Bane had been exposed to only five women in his life: his mother, Melisande, Talia, Maysam, and a nurse at the clinic where he had his back surgery, the latter two only for a few brief moments. On his other assignments thus far with the League he had operated mainly at night and thus had limited views of other people, and that had been in the Middle East where so many women wore concealing clothes. This slim woman stood before him wearing a loose-fitting, plain dress that reached nearly to the floor, a tan color, almost gray, with a dark gray design throughout, her feet bare as well as her head. The steam from her cooking had frizzled her short-cropped, black hair. Like Zakuani, her facial features were broad, and Bane could almost wonder if she were Zakuani’s sister if he did not already know that Zakuani’s siblings had all died. She had a pleasing oval shape to her face and high cheekbones. The brief smile she had given him had not completely warmed her visage, and in her nut-brown eyes he read a deep pain from her past, something that still struggled to squelch any warmth she might feel toward another human being.

            At that moment the realization struck Bane that the League of Shadows had trained him to fight and survive and excel as a warrior in the real world, but it had taught him nothing about women.

            “This is Belvie,” Zakuani said. He gave her a slight nod of encouragement. “Belvie, these are two of my brothers, Temujin and Bane.”

            “I am pleased to meet you,” Belvie said in a soft voice with a slight French accent.

            “She is making us an early supper; she figured you would be hungry from your travels.”

            “Thank you,” Temujin said with a slight bow to her. “It does smell good.”

            “I will bring you something to drink,” she said before withdrawing into the kitchen.

            Zakuani took Bane’s pack from him and put it with Temujin’s as they removed their footwear. He gestured to the couch, which sagged slightly, and Bane settled there with Temujin while Zakuani sat in an equally-saggy green chair. Belvie returned, bearing a tray with a chipped teapot and cups. After setting the tray on a coffee table before her guests, she straightened and glanced questioningly at Bane’s mask. Bane’s fingers twitched, and he wanted to look away from her, but he had learned to master this self-conscious urge whenever others considered the mask.

            “My husband said you most likely would drink tea. Is there…anything else you might like?”

            “Tea is fine,” Temujin said. “Thank you.”

            Again she returned to the kitchen as Zakuani poured tea for Temujin. He raised his eyebrows to Bane, still holding the pot.

            “Will you drink, brother?”

            “Not right now,” Bane said, though there was nothing he wanted more. “I will drink when I have my meal.”

            “I know little of your mask; only that you wear it because of injuries you suffered. I assume you are able to remove it.”

            “Of course,” Bane tried to keep the irritation from his tone. “I eat and drink as you do.” Not as easily or of the same diet, he almost added, but innate caution made him suppress any more information. He dismissed Zakuani’s curiosity by introducing some of his own, his attention drifting pointedly toward the kitchen. “I was unaware of someone living here with you. She is not one of us.”

            “Not in the way that we are, no. But she is trustworthy and understands a bit about who you are and why you are here.”

            “You think that wise?” Bane suppressed a scowl.

            “If I thought it anything less, she would not be here. But her presence serves a purpose, just as yours does, my surly friend.”

            “Bane doesn’t mean to be insulting,” Temujin said with a pointed glance at his subordinate. “He’s tired from the journey, as am I.”

            Zakuani did not partake of the tea. Temujin’s remark seemed to soothe him slightly and removed the edge from his voice. “You stay in the mountains, don’t you, Bane?”

            “Yes.”

            “I haven’t been there since my training. I have always lived in Zaire and here in Kolwezi for several years now. Unlike in the mountains, here an operative must blend into his surroundings. If I lived here alone—no family—some of my neighbors might become suspicious. So Belvie lives here as my wife, but of course she is not my wife; I uphold my vows to the League.”

            “She’s kept here against her will?” Bane asked.

            “No. You might say she is paying a debt.”

            “To you?”

            “Partly, but I would consider it more a debt to the League since everything I do is for the League, just as it is with you.”

            Bane’s suspicion had mainly abated, and his curiosity about the woman and her arrangement with his host won out. But he was unsure whether to keep questioning Zakuani, especially after Temujin’s tacit rebuke a moment ago.

            “Did you know,” Zakuani continued, his voice more private now, “how high the rate of sexual abuse and rape is in this country?”

            Surprised by the turn of subject, Bane merely shook his head. Because of Melisande, this was not a topic he relished.

            “Belvie is one of those victims. I saved her from a terrible situation during one of my ops. It was a chance encounter, but I did what any moral man would do in such a case, what any man of justice would do. So now we help each other—I provide her with security and a home, and she provides me with the disguise of normalcy. I am but a humble mineworker with a loving family.”

            The word _family_ increased Bane’s curiosity, but before he could ask anything more, the door to the bedroom creaked open, and a toddler appeared, sleepy-eyed and yawning, rubbing her dark face. Then she saw the strangers and froze on the threshold, staring with wide brown eyes.

            “Dorsia,” Zakuani said. “You slept a long time—”

            The toddler’s ensuing scream of terror cut off Zakuani’s words—she was focused on Bane’s mask, her face now contorted, her high-pitched noise unnerving Bane.

            Belvie rushed into the room. “Dorsia.”

            The child wheeled about and fled back into the darkened bedroom, struggling the door shut behind her, all the while still screaming. Belvie hurried in after her, which caused Dorsia’s cries to increase even more in pitch, as if she feared that it were Bane pursuing her. Her outcries pained his ears. Even at her youngest, Talia had never made such sounds. Thankfully Belvie shut the door behind her.

            “I’m sorry,” Zakuani said above the somewhat muffled clamor from the bedroom. “I had told her that we would have guests today, but she is so young and shy. She doesn’t understand everything, of course.”

            Since acquiring his mask Bane had quickly hardened himself to others’ reactions, but seeing and hearing a child respond with such panic left him embarrassed and rueful.

            “There is no reason to apologize,” Temujin smiled. “We are an ugly pair, aren’t we, Bane? We frighten many children.” He chuckled.

            “Excuse me.” Zakuani stood. “I will try to quiet her so Belvie can finish supper.”

            But try as they might neither Zakuani nor Belvie could calm the child enough for her to venture out of the bedroom, even for supper. So Belvie ate in the bedroom with Dorsia while the men ate at the table in the kitchen. Bane said little through the meal, eager to put his mask back on lest Belvie or Dorsia emerged from the bedroom. Zakuani had no reaction to the scarred remains of his face, but Bane knew without looking that the African chanced a couple of curious glances his way during the meal.

            They spent the evening discussing their mission, with Belvie and Dorsia in the bedroom. After Belvie tucked her child into bed, she emerged, and Bane tried to convey his apology through meeting her gaze. She gave him a small, acknowledging smile, one that offered her own apology in return before she went into the kitchen. There she remained, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper with what appeared to be great difficulty, allowing the men privacy. Bane found himself wishing she were with them, perhaps talking a bit about herself and her child. He wondered who Dorsia’s father was. Could it be Zakuani? Had she been married before? If so, what had happened to her husband? Or was Dorsia the result of a rape? Yet, Bane berated himself, what did it matter?

            They all went to bed early, Zakuani into the bedroom while Temujin took the couch and Bane lay on the floor with a pillow.

            “Your back will stiffen by morning if you sleep there,” Temujin warned as Bane removed the broad brace that encircled his waist. “Why don’t you take the couch?”

            “Because I’m too big for it.” Though he spoke the truth, even if the furniture had accommodated his formidable frame he would not have allowed his elder the less comfortable sleeping accommodations offered by the rug.

            Perhaps Temujin realized this, for he said nothing more on the matter, and instead turned off the lamp. Although tired, Bane stared at the ceiling, knowing sleep would not come easily if at all. He listened to the soft murmuring of voices beyond the closed bedroom door. Dorsie. She was speaking now, in French, offering more words than she had since Bane’s arrival, and he hoped that by morning she would have forgotten her scare; he would be gone before she arose.

            Bane wondered if Zakuani always shared the bedroom with Belvie or if he only did so tonight because of their guests. True, League members were forbidden from marrying, but perhaps Zakuani still had sex with Belvie. But then Bane considered the things his host had intimated about Belvie’s past and wondered if perhaps those experiences had so traumatized the woman that she would refuse such advances. Surely Zakuani would not force himself upon her, for Bane had seen the outrage in the man’s eyes when he had spoken about Belvie’s history.

            After half an hour of tossing and turning, feeling entirely too warm, Temujin’s quiet voice reached out to him, “You must try to sleep, Bane. We will be leaving in only a few hours.”

            Bane sighed, sheepish because he knew his shifting about was keeping his friend awake as well.

            Following a pause, Temujin said, “You are troubled by the child’s reaction to you.”

            Bane hesitated, considered. “Yes.”

            “Why does it matter how a child views you? You may never see her again.”

            “It just…reminded me of something.”

            “Something with Talia?”

            “Yes.”

            The couch protested as Temujin shifted his weight to face Bane. “We have spent many months disciplining your mind to accept and master the shadows from your past life. You had told me of your success. Were you untruthful with me?”

            “No, of course not.”

            “Then tell me why the child disturbs you.”

            Bane had not wanted it to come to this; he had thought Temujin asleep and unaware of his restlessness. It had been some time since they had discussed his history, since Temujin had helped him overcome nightmares and flashbacks after the attack during Talia’s escape from the pit. To speak of that time now might make him appear weak in his SO’s eyes, as if he had digressed in his mental training. But he knew his friend would not simply let the subject drop, for Temujin always said that one had to face such issues, not try to forget and bury them.

            “Her reaction,” Bane began tentatively, “reminded me of when we were rescued. You didn’t reach the surface until after me, so you didn’t see what happened.”

            “See what?”

            “Talia’s reaction when she saw me.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Remember I was heavily bandaged, bloody and filthy, half out of my mind from pain. At first she had no idea it was me. All she saw was a monster. And she was horrified; she recoiled from the very sight of me, repulsed and fearful. I couldn’t blame her, of course, but it gutted me. Of course she quickly realized it was me, but for those few seconds,” his voice softened even more, “I thought all was lost, that I had lost _her_. It was the worst feeling I had ever had. I’ll never forget it.”

            Silence for a long moment before Temujin sighed. “It is understandable that you connect the two experiences. And it tells me that you still see yourself as that monster you thought Talia saw. But you are not that, my friend, and you never were. You must find a way to banish such images, such perceptions from your mind. They will do you no service. I am here to help you with such things; that is my job. But you must always tell me of such lapses; don’t hide them from me. I can’t help you then.”

            “I thought I was beyond all that.”

            “Obviously you are not. But there is no shame in it, Bane. You have endured much, and very little time has passed since those days. You must not be discouraged. You are strong enough to overcome these things. I’ve always had that faith in you.”

            Bane’s furrowed brow eased. “Thank you, Jin.”

            “You are most welcome. Now, I will help you clear your mind. Rest is far more important right now than the useless ghosts of your past.”

            There was an old Mongolian chant that Temujin used with Bane several times in the past. His mentor had never translated it for him, claiming that the words were not important for Bane to know, that the real importance was in the intonation and its relaxing power. Bane had always enjoyed listening to Temujin’s native language and had even acquired a working knowledge of it, but the majority of the words in the chant were still lost upon him.

            “You must not always trouble yourself with the ‘why’ of everything,” Temujin always said. “While knowledge is important, you must develop the ability to turn off your mind and allow it to rest and heal. Madness comes to those who do not master this skill.”

            As Bane closed his eyes and focused on his breathing there in the darkness, Temujin began to softly chant. And before the Mongol could finish, Bane slipped away into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

            “Talia, what are you doing?”

            Akar’s voice froze her in place, just when she was about to step out of the common room. What was he doing down here in the middle of the night? She would have passed undetected if not for the exposing light of the candle Akar carried to find his way in the darkness. Even the embers in the great hearth had faded to ash.

            When he started to ask more, crossing the room toward her from the kitchen, she jerked a finger to her lips for silence and discretion. Akar obeyed, and soon stood before her, the candlelight showing concern on his scarred face as his single eye took in her parka and backpack.

            He whispered urgently, “Why are you dressed that way? You aren’t going outside this time of night.”

            Talia thought quickly for a cover story. “Papa and I are going hunting.”

            “In the middle of the night?”

            “We wanted an early start.”

            Akar eyed her with suspicion. “Then where is your father?”

            She hesitated. “He’s waiting for me in the Great Hall. Now I must go or he’ll grow impatient with me.” Talia hurried from the common room. To her dismay, her friend followed close behind. “There’s no need to escort me, Akar. I can see fine without your candle. My years in the pit made me accustomed to seeing in the dark, remember?”

            “Where are you really going, Talia?”

            “I told you—hunting. Besides, what are _you_ doing up this time of the night?”

            “I couldn’t sleep so I came down to heat up some milk.”

            “Well, your milk must be getting cold while you’re following me, so why don’t you go back? I told you, I can see fine. Papa won’t be pleased that you’re out of bed, slowing me down.”

            But Akar’s dogged pursuit continued through the passageways, both of them falling into stubborn silence until just before Talia reached the Great Hall. Exasperated and desperate, she wheeled.

            “Go back to bed, Akar,” she hissed, hoping her display of irritation would cow him.

            Akar held the candle in front of him like a shield, swallowed hard. “No, not until you tell me where you’re really going.”

            Talia wavered, jaw tightening. Clearly he would not give up until he saw her father with her, walking out the doors. And that, of course, was not going to happen.

            “Are you running away?”

            “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I do such a thing?”

            “Because you’re angry with your father.”

            “No, I’m not.”

            “Talia.” He frowned. “I heard you two arguing the other night.”

            She gaped. “You were eavesdropping!”

            “I didn’t mean to. I was on my way to your father’s room to return a book I had borrowed.”

            “You shouldn’t have listened.”

            “I couldn’t help it. I’ve been worried about you since you didn’t show up in the dojo to train.”

            Akar had little reason to be in the dojo during his daily chores, but often he would eat his lunch there, watching the men train, wishing he could do the same. Frequently he shared that wish with Talia, and she had done her best to console him.

            “If you don’t go back to bed right now,” Talia said, “I will tell Papa that you were eavesdropping on us.”

            Akar swallowed again and squared his shoulders. “I’ll go to bed after you tell me what you’re doing. You aren’t going hunting with your father.”

            “Leave me alone.” She hurried onward, knowing he would follow but determined now to ignore him since he had seen through her lie.

            Through the Great Hall and into the anteroom, which was lit by rows of candles in glass holders on flanking tables. She reached for the handle of one of the large wooden doors, but Akar swept in front of her, his back against the door.

            “If you don’t tell me what you’re doing,” he stammered, unpracticed in showing indignation, “I will run to your father’s room right now and alert him.”

            His threat shocked her, for Akar was rarely forceful with anyone, especially her. “You wouldn’t.”

            He set his jaw and stiffened his spine, looked down at her with a false sense of authority, as if imitating Bane. She would have laughed if not for her desperation to escape.

            Trying a different tactic, Talia softened her expression, adopted a slightly slouched, capitulating stance. “Please move, Akar. I need to go.”

            “Where?”

            “What does it matter?”

            Akar faltered before admitting, “I told Bane I would look out for you whenever he’s gone. I promised him.”

            Though appreciative of his loyalty to both her and Bane, she said, “There’s no need. I’ll be fine.”

            “Are you running away?”

            “No. I’m coming back.”

            “When?”

            “When I’m ready. When Papa’s learned his lesson.”

            “What lesson?”

            “That’s my business. Now let me pass. I’m going to do this, Akar. You can’t bar these doors for the rest of your life.”

            “I won’t need to after I tell your father.”

            “If you tell Papa, I’ll never speak to you again.”

            A lie, of course, but a threat that she knew would cut Akar to the quick. He wilted slightly.

            “I’m going, Akar. Please step aside. I don’t want to hurt you, but you know I can; you’ve seen me fight in the dojo.”

            Pain crossed his face, that defeated look she had seen before whenever one of the men—usually Damien Chase, her father’s second-in-command—said something that made him feel inadequate because of his handicaps. It made Talia feel miserable, but she remained determined to carry out her plan.

            “If you’re so set on going, then I’m coming with you.”

            “No. You’ll get in trouble with Papa and Jamyang, and…and…”

            Akar scowled. “You think I’ll slow you down.”

            “I didn’t say that.”

            “You didn’t need to.”

            “You aren’t trained like I am.”

            “You’re just a child, Talia, no matter how much training you’ve had. I’m going with you. I promised Bane—”

            “—that you will protect me; I heard you before. But Bane wouldn’t want you getting in trouble.”

            “He would want me to do what I promised, and I will.”

            “You aren’t dressed or provisioned.”

            “It won’t take me long to run to my room and come back ready.”

            “You’ll get us caught.”

            “Not if you promise to wait for me here.”

            Talia wanted to stomp her foot in frustration but feared making more noise. She could see that she had little choice now. She hesitated for a long moment, lips pressed tightly together as Akar waited with an eager, determined light in his eye.

            “Ugh!” she growled. “Hurry up, then. And if someone catches you, you’re going to tell Papa this was all your idea.”

            “I won’t get caught,” he said with a relieved smile before rushing through the Great Hall.

#

            Bane, Temujin, and Zakuani flew to the market town of Ikela, far to the north of Kolwezi, in the heart of Zaire. There they rendezvoused with a man by the name of Bernard Diako. Diako was not a member of the League of Shadows but had been hired for his knowledge of Équateur Province through which they would be tracking Mutara.

            A couple of hours after their arrival in Ikela they left the safe house and crossed the broad Tshuapa River south of town. From there they left civilization behind, delving into the rich canopy of forest, a world that instantly captivated Bane. Diako led the way, carrying a machete for hacking through any vines or other leafy entanglements that could slow them down. The air was alive with the cries of birds and unseen animals, all foreign to Bane. He wanted always to scan his surroundings in search of these creatures, but the challenges of navigating the wilderness kept his attention more often focused directly in front of him. He considered the region’s array of reptiles and amphibians that he had both read about and been warned of by Diako and Zakuani. Pythons, boa constrictors, vipers, cobras. Bane longed to see them yet feared them as well. He could, however, do without the myriad of biting, annoying insects. Though doused with repellent, he had to frequently reapply it to what little skin was exposed.

            The temperature hovered around thirty-two degrees Celsius, and though the trees provided welcomed shade, they also killed any breeze down here on the forest floor, so in no time sweat soaked Bane. Never before had he experienced such humidity. It weighed upon him like another set of clothes and made breathing more of a chore. As hours of laborious trekking crawled by, taking them ever deeper into the wilderness, Bane’s respiration became almost as laborious. He tried to hide this fact from his comrades, but the mask drew attention to it, his panting hollowly ringing within the apparatus’s confines. Sweat gathered inside it, making it even more uncomfortable and claustrophobic.

            Their stops were few and brief. Bane trudged on without complaint, though he knew Temujin was observing his condition closely, albeit discreetly. They had much ground to make up on their quarry.

            “Mutara, I believe, will be headed for a small, abandoned village some one hundred kilometers southwest of us,” Diako had said back in Ikela. “My sources told me yesterday that some hunters had found tracks southwest of town, the tracks of three men and several children. Mutara cannot carry enough supplies with him for so many mouths to feed, so he will have planned ahead and stored supplies along his route, such as that village. I expect they will stay there for at least one night.”

            Of course children would ensure that Mutara could not move as fast as Bane and the others. They would require frequent rests if their captor wanted them to remain in good health for when they were turned over to the buyer. Again Bane felt nauseated and enraged when he imagined Talia in the same circumstances as these victims.

            “I don’t want you thinking of this situation in that way,” Temujin said when Bane shared his thoughts during one of their stops. “This is an assignment, not a crusade. Take your emotions out of it. They will cloud your judgment. What did I tell you on the plane?”

            “Maybe these thoughts aren’t a distraction at all but a motivation.”

            “Who is the supervising officer here, Bane?” Temujin scowled. “You will listen to me on this.”

            Bane turned away to drink from his canteen, disgruntled with himself for even telling Temujin about this. Though his superior, Temujin was usually not so blunt. The fact that he was told Bane the depth of his mentor’s displeasure.

            A moment of silence slipped between them before Temujin spoke again, this time in a tone devoid of any anger, “Your breathing has been growing more labored because of the humidity.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You will tell me if you are not.”

            “Of course.”

            “Don’t try to deceive me, Bane. You know you can’t.”

            It was true, of course, but Bane refused to concede his mentor’s intimate knowledge of him. Instead he pretended to be engrossed in his meal, angling his back more toward Temujin to encourage an end to the discussion. Fortunately his SO said nothing more.

            Bane’s attention drifted to Bernard Diako, who sat several feet away from him and the others. Diako, somewhere in his thirties, tall and powerful, was an unsmiling man with a low, broad brow and a jaw that jutted slightly forward like a bulldog. His neck was scarred, as if someone had once attempted to slit his throat. He had said next to nothing since they left Ikela, and before that he had said very little beyond the information he had shared about Mutara’s assumed path.

            Bane liked him, yet he could not figure out exactly why. Merely a gut feeling. Perhaps it stemmed from the simple fact that Diako was not a member of the League. Of course it was not his place to question the wisdom of Diako’s employment; after all, Zakuani would have been unable to acquire him without Rā’s al Ghūl’s approval. But Bane remembered his training and his SO’s advice to always trust his gut instincts. For now, he would say nothing to Temujin and instead would merely watch Diako closely without stirring the man’s suspicions.

            Only when total nightfall blanketed them did they halt for the night. The noises of wildlife increased twofold, keeping Bane awake even after he had served his turn on watch. He thought of carnivorous creatures, like the leopard. Such contemplation caused no fear in him; they kept a small fire burning, and his guns were next to him. His attention went to Diako, and the uneasiness he had felt all day about the man bothered him more than the prospect of any wild thing attacking them in camp.

            He remembered Diako’s facial expression when he had seen the mask. Unlike Zakuani, it had been apparent that Diako had not been forewarned about the apparatus or even about the man who wore it. Diako’s eyes had narrowed with curiosity, but he said nothing, asked nothing. Bane sensed, though, that the man was concerned that the mask would be a weakness, a chink in the team’s armor. Or perhaps it was not concern. Perhaps the African was instead pleased to believe that he was physically superior to the man who bore this strange handicap.

            The second day of their trek through the remote forests brought heavier humidity and higher temperatures than the day before. Even the natural beauty and mysterious surroundings could not completely distract Bane from his respiratory difficulties. There were a couple of occasions when Temujin met his gaze and was about to order another rest stop, but each time Bane shook his head in silent dissuasion. By late afternoon he had fallen to the rear of their single file, fighting to keep his breath from rasping through the mask and exposing just how badly he struggled.

            Just when he feared collapse, he spied a brightening ahead of them through the thick foliage, and he thought he caught the faint music of a stream. He closed his eyes in thanksgiving. Water to cool him, an open space where he could breathe better.

            When they reached the waterway, Bane softly sighed and wiped his brow with his sleeve. It was a picturesque setting, like so many views before this—a stream narrow enough for a man to step over, framed by overhanging branches, tripping gently along with a robust flow, as clear as glass. He wanted to bury his face in it.

            “We will rest here,” Temujin announced with a glance at Bane. “Half an hour.”

            “Too long,” Diako insisted. “Fifteen minutes.”

            “My orders aren’t negotiable,” Temujin said darkly and crouched beside the stream to cup his hands full of water and splash his face.

            Bane kept his gaze from the African, but he could feel Diako’s angry stare, heard him mutter something in Swahili under his breath. Zakuani responded in the same tongue, an obvious rebuke.

            After injecting his morphine, Bane removed his mask and his boots. He drank long and deep of the cool waters, closing his eyes, then he sat on the bank and submerged his aching, burning feet with a smile. As always when confronted with such pure, natural water he harkened back to the warm, stagnant, multi-purpose pool at the bottom of the stepwell in the pit prison. Back then he could never have imagined that something such as this stream existed anywhere. He dug a protein bar from his pack and savored it along with more of the water before donning his mask once again. Then he lay back, closed his eyes, and listened to the varied cries of birds both large and small, the earth cool and soothing against his sweated clothes.

            Once they were moving again, Bane took up the position in line directly behind Diako and the man’s trailblazing machete. Bane did this not only to show the others that he was fully renewed—which he was not—but because he had a feeling that his close presence in Diako’s blind spot would vex the man. And the fact that the African frequently cast baleful glances over his shoulder proved Bane’s assumption correct.

            “What caused your injuries?” Diako finally asked in an irritated, vaguely snide tone. “Did your face meet with the prop of an airplane? That is what it looks like.”

            For a long moment Bane said nothing. No one had ever made such rude remarks to him about his appearance. “My visage is no concern of yours,” he growled.

            “It is if you keep slowing us down.”

            “I have done nothing of the sort.”

            “I have a feeling if you weren’t with us, Temujin would not have requested several of our stops, including the last one. Temujin shows little sign of fatigue himself. The Mongols are a hardy sort.”

            “You are a mere hireling,” Bane said. “I’m surprised you are concerned with our pace, as if this operation were yours.”

            “The amount of my wages depends on our success. So I am well-motivated, my masked friend.”

            Bane considered this stipulation in Diako’s contract, a smart contingency on Rā’s’ part.

            “We must catch up with Mutara before he leaves that village. After that, he could melt into the forest,” Diako continued. “It will be our best chance of capturing him.” Again he tossed a dark glance back at Bane. “Your large size slows you as well as your breathing. Zakuani and I are far more suited to this environment; perhaps the three of us should leave you behind if you continue to hamper us.”

            “No one’s being left behind,” Temujin said.

            “You will compromise our speed and the mission for your masked friend? What will your employer say to that, Mongol?”

            “We will compromise nothing. You underestimate Bane, Diako. And you talk too much.”

            “Mutara and his men will hear his breathing from a kilometer away.”

            “Bane will be acclimated by then,” Temujin said. “Besides, they will hear your talking long before they hear Bane’s breathing. Now, enough of this dissension. If you continue insulting my friend, I might have to let him teach you some manners.”

            Diako chuckled humorlessly. “He may try, Mongol.”

            With that, they all fell silent and trudged onward as the sun—somewhere hidden by the surrounding wall of green—crept farther down the sky. All that could be heard beyond their footfalls was Bane’s breathing and Diako’s slashing machete.


	6. Chapter 6

            Beyond the opening of the small cave, a steady, cold rain fell. The mouth of the cave angled downward, so none of the water made its way to the interior; instead the overhang caused the rain to tumble to the rocky facing, providing a watery curtain that further camouflaged the sanctuary. Only someone who knew of the cave’s existence could detect it was there, secreted away at the base of a low mountain, not far from a clear stream, flowing quickly, almost angrily with the persistent July rainfall. Snowmelt from higher elevations up the valley added to the stream’s girth. Talia had used the waterway during the last leg of their journey to conceal their tracks.

            “How did you ever find this place?” Akar asked in wonder, standing in the middle of the cave, staring about him.

            Talia set her solar-powered lantern near Akar’s feet. It easily illuminated the dry space, which measured about three square meters, its ceiling just high enough to clear Akar’s head, its floor relatively flat.

            “Bane found it a year ago when he was out hunting.”

            “I don’t remember him ever mentioning it.”

            “He only told me. It’s our secret.”

            “Why?”

            Talia shrugged off her backpack. “It’s a refuge to protect me, just in case an enemy ever breaches the monastery compound. Bane told me that I’m to come here, and he would find me.”

            “Your father doesn’t know?”

            “Nope.”

            “Bane doesn’t trust even _him_?”

            “It’s not that.” Talia frowned. “It’s hard to explain.” She turned away toward a stainless steel locker set against the rear wall.

            “What’s that?”

            Talia opened the lid and knelt in front of it, rummaging inside.

            “Are those supplies?” Akar drew closer, staring in amazement.

            “Yes. Bane brought them here a while ago, in case there was an emergency, like I said.”

            “How much stuff is in there?”

            “Food and fuel for a week. Are you hungry?” She handed him a small propane tank and pulled forth a hot plate.

            Within a few minutes they had tea and stew made with salted yak and desiccated vegetables. The food warmed Talia from the inside out. The temperatures in the valleys were markedly warm compared to what she was accustomed to at the higher elevations, but she was not used to the dampness of the rain, which had chilled her on the last leg of their trek from the League’s base. She and Akar spread their coats out to dry as they ate.

            “You don’t plan on staying here long, do you?” Akar asked. “We should head back before your father finds you. We’ve been gone for hours now. You’ve made your point to him. Maybe if we go back soon he won’t punish you too badly.”

            “I won’t be here for weeks, if that’s what you mean. But I’ll be here long enough.”

            “Long enough for what?”

            “For him to understand.”

            “Understand what?”

            “That he can’t dictate everything I do.”

            “But he’s your father. You must listen to him and respect him.”

            “Did you always listen to your father, Akar?” Talia challenged.

            He hesitated. “Yes.”

            She lifted a dubious eyebrow.

            “Our parents are wiser than us because of their age,” Akar said. “Their wisdom is a gift to their children, not a punishment.”

            “Did your father tell you that?”

            “Yes.”

            She gently scoffed as she spooned the last bit of soup from her mug. “He told you that so he could control you.”

            “No,” Akar replied in a hurt tone. “He told me that so I would stay safe.”

            “But you didn’t stay safe, did you?” Talia looked pointed at the dark leather patch covering Akar’s empty, scarred eye socket.

            A rare scowl darkened Akar’s brown face. “It wasn’t his fault.”

            “How do I know? You’ve never told me what happened that day the wolf attacked you.”

            “Yes, I have.”

            “I mean you’ve never told me the _real_ story.”

            Startled, Akar turned away to look toward the mouth of the cave. “I don’t want to talk about it. We should get going; we need to go back.”

            Talia had not wanted to hurt him, but she also wanted to dissuade him from talking about her father. “Are you afraid?”

            “Of what?”

            “Of being in this cave.”

            “I’d rather be outside. You aren’t afraid.”

            “No. Remember, I was born and raised underground.”

            “I would think that would make you afraid of being here. Doesn’t it remind you of that?”

            “Sure. But I’m not afraid. Bane taught me to embrace our past; he says it makes us strong, not weak.”

            Akar set aside his soup mug and sipped his tea before speaking again. “Bane will be angry with you for doing this.”

            “He’ll understand.”

            “Maybe. But he will be angry that you defied your father and worried him so.”

            “After I tell him what Papa said, he won’t. He’ll be angry with Papa, like I am.”

            “Maybe, but even if he is he would not defy your father as you have.”

            “Don’t be too sure of that when it comes to me, Akar,” she said with pride.

            “Bane has sworn an oath to the League, Talia. He must obey his master, as you should.”

            “What about you?” she argued. “You just defied your master.”

            “You gave me no choice.”

            “We all have choices; that’s what Papa says. You could have chosen to stay where you belonged.”

            “I told you—I promised Bane that I would keep you safe.”

            “I can take care of myself. Bane knows that.”

            “Does he? Then why did he make me promise to watch you?”

            “He was just being kind to you; he gave you a purpose.”

            Akar’s narrow eyes darkened with rarely seen anger. “I already have a purpose, in case you didn’t ever wonder who fed you and put clean sheets on your bed.”

            Embarrassed, Talia looked away, rolling her lips together.

            “Bane knows I have more value than just being a servant,” Akar continued.

            Talia forced her gaze back to him. “I know, too, Akar. I’m sorry I said that.”

            A heavy silence stretched between them before Akar spoke again, “You won’t be the only one punished when they find us, you know.”

            Talia frowned again. “I know. That’s why you should go back. You could tell Papa that you were out looking for me but couldn’t find me.”

            “I’m not leaving you. That’s final. So quit talking about it.”

            Though Talia sighed in frustration, a part of her was grateful for Akar’s stubbornness. Having him with her would make this easier to bear. She would never admit it to him, but she had been questioning her impulsiveness to strike out from the monastery. Not only was her father’s wrath to be feared, but Bane would indeed be angry with her as well, and she hated his scolding worse than even her father’s. And then there were the physical hardships to endure as well. She already missed the cheerful, warming fire in the common room and the softness of her own bed.

            As she had trekked down from the mountains, she had considered how she had never before done anything truly alone. Since the day of her birth she had had her mother and Bane always there beside her…until Bane had been initiated into the League and had left on assignments. Perhaps, she wondered, she was running away as much to punish Bane as her father. Although she knew she was being selfish and irrational, she felt a sense of insult and abandonment whenever Bane left her, choosing the League’s business over her. Why couldn’t he have chosen simply to be her protector at their mountain home instead of being a warrior? But, of course, she knew the answers to that question. Not only was Bane well-suited to his new role but he craved it; he wanted to do something with his life, he wanted to be useful; he wanted to show his gratitude to her father for saving his life. And more painful to realize was the fact that her father did not want Bane around her all the time. Had not their most recent argument proven that to be true? Like Bane, Talia desperately wanted her father to love him, but after more than two years, she had begun to realize that such a thing would never develop, and it disappointed her.

            For the first time, she saw her father as a flawed man.

#

            “We are within two kilometers of the village,” Diako said.

            Temujin glanced at his watch then the sky through the emerald foliage. “Sunset in another hour. Zakuani, you’ll scout their position as soon as it’s dark, then report back here.”

            “I can go,” Bane eagerly offered.

            “No, I want Zakuani,” Temujin insisted.

            Bane opened his mouth to object but managed to hold his tongue. He needed to respect his SO’s decision; such self-control was one of his major weaknesses, as Temujin had often counseled him, including during his first two missions. Perhaps Temujin was purposefully testing him now. He would rather believe that to be his SO’s motivation, rather than Temujin’s concerns about his respiration.

            Ruefully Bane watched as Zakuani stripped himself of everything except his pair of pistols, checked the coordinates, then melted into the forest.

#

            Zakuani’s reconnaissance mission provided Bane with a rejuvenating respite, some two hours of silence, listening to the outrageous noises of the forest; every sound seemed amplified to him, putting his nerves on edge. He told himself that this period of rest was one of Temujin’s reasons for letting Zakuani scout the target’s position instead of him. But Bane found that he could not be grateful for his SO’s wisdom. He sat away from the others, not only because they should not bunch together for the sake of safety this close to their target, but because he wanted to avoid giving Temujin the opportunity to speak with him. Nor did he want to afford himself the chance to voice his frustrations.

            It seemed an eternity before Zakuani drifted back through the trees, emerging like a ghost near midnight when the moon and stars hid behind an ashy curtain of clouds. Bane’s fingers twitched in anticipation. Waiting for Zakuani’s return had been torture. If only Temujin had sent him to reconnoiter, it would have occupied his mind and body.

            They all crouched together around the scout to receive his report.

            “Are they there?” Diako quietly asked.

            “Yes.” Zakuani removed his night-vision goggles.

            “Did you see the children?” Bane this time, his impatience impelling his question instead of allowing Temujin to query.

            “Some of them. From what I gathered, they have them inside the huts.”

            “How many men?” Temujin calmly inquired.

            “Four.”

            “One for each of us,” Diako murmured darkly, almost to himself.

            “Did you see Mutara?” Temujin asked.

            “Yes.”

            Bane’s fingers twitched again, resting against his assault rifle across his thighs.

            Zakuani rummaged in his pack and pulled forth a piece of paper and pen. Diako’s small flashlight shined upon it as Zakuani drew a diagram of the village to illustrate the positions of the huts that supposedly housed the children. A dozen huts, six on each side of a central path.

            “The huts are small,” Zakuani said. “But I believe they have concentrated the children in these three. One man standing watch while two others sleep outside these same huts.”

            “You said there are four,” Bane interjected.

            “Yes, but I’m guessing Mutara doesn’t stand watch. I saw him head into this hut at the far end, and I never saw him again.”

            “Very well,” Temujin said. “We will move immediately. Once the village is in sight, we will split up. Silence is key, of course. I will move in first and take out the man on watch. Diako, you will have moved around to the west to block that escape route and take down either of the two others if they try to run your way. Zakuani, you will move in from the south, behind the huts where the children are. You will take out the third man while I dispatch the second. Bane, you will enter the village once I move on the guard; you will go to Mutara’s hut to take him into custody. Remember, he must be captured alive.”

            Bane’s chest swelled with pride for having the honor of bagging Mutara himself. This eased his hurt pride over Zakuani being sent on the scouting mission instead of him.

            “We must do this with as few bullets as possible, lest we injure any of the children,” Temujin cautioned.

            “The children are not the objective,” Diako growled.

            Temujin scowled at him. “No, but their safety is important. They are victims, not collateral damage. Understood?”

            Diako looked away, simmered.

            “Check weapons and coms,” Temujin ordered, “then let’s move out.”

#

            With rifles at the ready, they slipped through the forest like snaking wisps of mist, using night-vision technology to find their way and their training in _shinobi-iri_ to move as silently as possible. The clouds remained their allies, blocking any sliver of light from the heavens. Bane and Temujin had blackened the exposed flesh of their faces; everything else was covered by clothing, gloves, and boots. Diako was in the lead, his position concerning Bane, for Diako lacked League training, and though the man moved carefully, he still made a slight rustle and crunch as he walked.

            Bane had done his best to prepare himself physically and mentally for this moment. Meditation and breathing techniques—now almost second nature—had kept him calm. He focused on his mask, on keeping his respiration through it as soft as possible. Caution and stealth dictated that their pace be slower and more deliberate than usual, so that worked in his favor. And though the atmosphere was still humid, the night’s cooler temperatures helped him as well. Yet Temujin assigning him to bring up the rear had not been lost upon Bane. Soon, though, his actions would prove to all of them that any reservations about his ability to complete the team’s objective had been unfounded.

            Deep in the night, they came to a halt when Diako raised a hand. Temujin moved forward, touched Diako’s shoulder. The African drifted off to their right front. A moment passed. Temujin then signaled Zakuani who then melted away to the south. Bane crouched beside his SO. They exchanged a glance of trust and patience. Minutes slid by as they waited for their comrades to get into position. Then at last they advanced.

            At the tree line on the east end of the tiny village—more of a camp than a village to Bane’s eyes—they halted under cover. Temujin met his gaze a final time, transmitting to his protégé a multitude of things—a warning for caution, an urging to remember his training, a brotherly strength to bolster Bane, a shadow of concern for his safety. Bane nodded assurance to him, then watched his friend blend with the night even further and drift to the left, to approach his target from a rear angle.

            With his night vision, Bane focused on the armed guard. The man moved slowly, with short, shuffling, tired steps down the center of the village, staying mainly in front of the three huts that held the children. All was silent. A small fire burned in front of one of the dwellings, and two other men lay nearby on the ground, sleeping just out of the circle of weak light. As Zakuani had said, the domed huts were small. If there were indeed two dozen children inside, they would be sleeping nearly on top of one another, hot and uncomfortable, if they could sleep at all in such conditions. The huts appeared to have only one opening—the entry point. They seemed to be constructed of a frame of long, thin branches and saplings that had been bent and intertwined then covered with large, dried leaves like shingles.

            Bane’s attention turned to Temujin emerging from cover near the hut closest to the guard. His mentor appeared more so to float than walk as he slipped alongside the rounded dwelling. Bane gathered himself, ready to rush forward, down the center toward the hut where Mutara lay. He turned his goggles in that direction, hands tightening upon his rifle, lining up his route. But then movement caught his eye, and his breath caught.

            Diako. What was he doing, breaking cover before Temujin neutralized the guard? Insubordinate fool!

            The African crouched just outside Mutara’s hut, pausing only an instant before he went through the low doorway, knife in hand. Bane wanted to shout into his com for Diako to stop, but he knew it would do no good, nor could he break cover without alerting the guard who might then detect Temujin.

            Just as Temujin slipped from behind his cover and expertly slit the guard’s throat, a girl’s scream shattered the night, ringing out from Mutara’s hut. The other two guards instantly awoke, reached for their weapons, Temujin vulnerable in the open. Bane’s rifle was up in an instant. His precise shot blew through the forehead of one of the men. He could not fire upon the other, though, for Temujin was momentarily in his way. The man ripped off a burst of gunfire at Temujin. The muffled screams of frightened children came from inside the huts. Temujin ducked beneath the hail of bullets like a wraith, fired off his pistol as he did so, struck the assailant in the arm, momentarily foiling his shots. But Temujin did not take cover behind the huts, for to do so would put the children inside at risk from bullets directed through the hut at him.

            Bane sprang forward, running along the opposite side of the camp, behind the huts, toward Mutara’s shelter, toward his own target. As much as he wanted to help Temujin further, he knew he had to focus on his own objective and leave the rest to his SO and Zakuani who would now be flanking the remaining gunman.

            He neared the rear of Mutara’s hut, expecting to hear angry male voices inside but instead heard only the gunfire from the other side of the village. Something caught his eye—a ragged opening in the rear of the hut, near the ground, something just created. An escape route! Was he too late? A blur of movement there. Bane brought his rifle to bear.

            “Stop or I’ll shoot!” he shouted, halting to one side, near the back of the next hut for concealment.

            Instinctively, like a turtle into its shell, the small figure disappeared back into the hut. Small, too small to be a man. One of the children! Mutara had a human shield. But where was Mutara, and where was Diako?

            “Come out!” he ordered. “I won’t hurt you.” Of course he knew the child might not understand English or any other language he spoke, but he tried again in French. Nothing. He could not wait. The child—and anyone else still alive inside—could dart out the front of the hut and possibly be shot in the confusion or vanish into the forest.

            Bane took pistol and knife in hand and dove through the tight opening, his broad shoulders ripping through the organic structure of the hut. Wood snapped, and leaves cascaded. The greenish world of his night vision revealed a flash of movement to one side, and something wooden struck sharply against his head, but the lack of strength behind the blow caused him only to flinch. He sensed no one else inside with him and his small assailant as he pushed away from the blows, bringing his weapons to bear. The child fell away, mouth open in terror. A teen-aged girl.

            “It’s all right,” Bane said. “I won’t hurt you.”

            But the girl began to scream. Her terror, however, was not derived from the menace of his weapons. No, her horrified stare lay upon his mask.


	7. Chapter 7

            “Where’s Mutara?” Temujin’s urgent question came from the doorway of the hut.

            Bane turned from the cowering girl who was pressed back against the wall of the shelter, as far from him as she could get, but no longer screaming.

            “He and Diako were gone by the time I got here.”

            “Diako?”

            “Yes, he disobeyed orders and came here instead of holding his position.”

            “Find them.”

            Bane looked back to the girl. There was something odd about her face, some distortion that he was unsure of because of his night vision.

            Temujin asked her in English, “Where is Joseph Mutara?”

            The girl said nothing, continued to stare at Bane.

            “You have your orders, Bane. I’ll see to this and be right behind you. Zakuani is attending to the children.”

            Glad to be free of the teenager’s horrified gaze, Bane rushed out of the hut and to the edge of the village. There he paused, rifle now in hand, crouched as he scanned the thick foliage for movement, tried to listen for telltale sounds of flight and pursuit, but all he could hear were the agitated, frightened voices of the children as they ventured out of the huts behind him. Zakuani spoke to them in a language Bane did not understand, authoritative, calm, and reassuring.

            Heading into the forest, Bane advanced only a few meters before a gunshot rang out to the west, some ways into the tangled cover. Now he noticed signs of hurried passage—snapped branches, torn vines. Shouts echoed, angry male voices, but Bane could not interpret the words. He rushed forward, working his way to the north so he would come at his quarry from the flank. The shouting stopped. As Bane drew closer to where he suspected Mutara had been when the shot was fired, he saw only one man, down on the ground, cursing and clutching his leg. Diako.

            As much as Bane wanted to berate the African, he knew now was not the time. Instead he spoke into his com to alert Diako to his presence before he broke cover and came to him. Blood darkened the man’s right pant leg.

            “Diako’s been shot,” Bane informed his team over the com. “Nothing life-threatening. I’m going after Mutara.” To his wounded comrade, “Which direction?”

            Diako, teeth clenched against the pain, pointed to the west.

            Bane departed, as silent as his moderated speed allowed. How much of a head start did Mutara have? Inwardly he cursed Diako’s insubordination. Why had the man taken matters into his own hands? Had he not understood his orders? No, those had been plain, plain and simple. Well, this was no time to ponder such things, not Diako’s actions…and not that traumatized girl back in Mutara’s hut. Later he would have answers to all of this.

            He wanted to rush, afraid Mutara would escape, but he cautioned himself, knowing his target could very well be waiting to ambush any pursuer. The sounds of the forest seemed even louder than normal, animals disturbed by the gunfire, rustling in the branches high above him, calls of fear and warning, reminding Bane of the children’s outcries back in the village.

            “I’m coming up behind you, Bane,” Temujin’s voice over the com, soft, controlled. “I’ll be moving off to your right.”

            The nearby presence of his SO soothed Bane, calmed his racing heart and quelled his rage over Diako’s stupidity. Though he was unable to see Temujin, he could feel him through the heavy night, slipping forward like some wild cat.

            They traveled for nearly a kilometer but saw nothing of Mutara. His early trail had vanished after Bane had left Diako, the man obviously taking more care of his passage through the wilderness once he had rid himself of the threat posed by Diako. How well did Mutara know this area? According to the dossier Bane had studied, Mutara had delivered at least two other groups of kidnapped children and adults to those willing to pay for them. Had Mutara used this same route? Did he know of places to hide in case of pursuers?

            At last Temujin gave the order to abort the search and return to the village, concerned that Mutara might circle back to surprise Zukuani and retake his valuable victims. Easily Bane heard the bitterness in his SO’s voice. They had been so close to success, to ending this mission swiftly. Bane had hoped for just such a result, not simply to help the children and please Rā’s al Ghūl, but because he could then return to Talia. She would be very happy and proud to hear of their swift achievement. He could sit by the fire with her and tell her about all that he had seen of this amazing wilderness. She would be fascinated.

            As Bane retraced his steps, Temujin moving on a parallel course, his thoughts of Talia made him consider the girl in Mutara’s hut. He knew that her fear had not been strictly because of his strange visage. Diako’s sudden nocturnal, armed appearance had surely traumatized her first, not to mention whatever Mutara had done to her during her captivity. While not naked, she wore little more than a ragged dress, something akin to a grain sack. Bane’s memories of Melisande’s rape and murder fired his blood when he considered Mutara’s probable purpose for having the girl in that hut. It was that flaring rage that burned through him as he came upon Diako, still on the ground, muttering over his wound.

            Before Diako could react, Bane had his hands around the man’s throat, lifting him up and off his feet, saying, “You stupid fool! You jeopardized this entire operation with your blatant disobedience.”

            Diako’s eyes revealed no fear, only outrage, as he struggled to break Bane’s hold, gasping and gagging. “Put…me…down, damn you!”

            “Your orders were to cover their escape route, not engage the target.”

            “Bane!” Temujin emerged from the foliage to Bane’s right, immediately reaching for his arm. “Put him down! What the hell are you doing?”

            Bane’s anger, however, would not allow him to free Diako until Temujin snapped at him again. Then he gave the African a shove as he released him, causing the injured mercenary to sprawl across the ground, crying out in pain. Bane stormed past him, would have spat on him if not for the mask.

            “Stop, Bane!” Temujin’s command rang out. “Bane, that’s an order!”

            He halted, fists clenched, fought to control his emotions, keeping his back to his friend.

            “Help Diako to the village.”

            After a moment’s hesitation, Bane returned, stood above Diako, felt the African’s glare from behind his night-vision goggles. Temujin waited, his displeasure tactile. Then Bane held out his hand, and Diako grabbed his forearm to be hauled to his feet, grimacing. With the mercenary’s arm draped around his shoulder, Bane started back to the village, Temujin behind, rifle at the ready.

            When they reached the village, all eyes turned their way from near the fire, which was burning brightly with fresh fuel. The two dozen children clustered close together, some sitting, some standing as if ready to flee. Zakuani stood in their midst, rifle in hand, vigilant. The bodies of the slain men had been dragged somewhere out of sight.

            “These are my friends,” Zakuani said to the youngsters. “Don’t be afraid.”

            To Temujin, Bane said, “Why don’t you take Diako? I’ll stay back so I don’t frighten them.”

            “Very well. Guard the perimeter. I’ll have Zakuani relieve you after we see to the children and Diako’s wound.”

            “I don’t see the girl,” Bane observed. “The one that was in Mutara’s hut.”

            “I’m sure she’s still in there. I spoke briefly to her and told her she could remain there if she felt safer. I’m going to speak with her alone. I have a feeling she’s not one of these.” He gestured to the group of children. “I’m thinking she’s been with Mutara a while.”

            “You mean she wasn’t kidnapped?”

            “No doubt she was, but I don’t think with this lot. She has suffered far more trauma than they.”

            Bane’s jaw clenched as he suppressed a curse.

            Many of the children stared at the blood on Diako’s leg as Temujin helped him toward the fire, and a couple of them fell back from the man. Some looked curiously toward Bane, but he quickly turned away into the shadows.

#

            When Zakuani relieved him some time later, Bane avoided the revealing glow of the fire. The night was still too warm for him to desire sitting near the flames. The children had all returned to the huts, allowed to spread out now and not sleep so crowded. He settled near the door of one of the shelters. Someone had retrieved his pack from where they had left them in the forest, and he used his now to recline, resting his rifle across him.

            Diako lay near the fire, sleeping now, perhaps with the help of a sedative, his leg bandaged. Temujin stepped away from the man and drew near Bane, looked down upon him, his expression unreadable.

            “Sleep, Bane. Two hours. Take advantage of it.”

            “How are they?”

            “Still afraid but less so. Morning will help them recover.”

            “Until they see me.”

            “You must not concern yourself with that. There is nothing for it. We have assured them that none of us are to be feared.”

            “Did Diako tell you what happened? That he disobeyed your orders and went after Mutara himself?”

            “I questioned him, yes.”

            “What did he say?”

            Temujin sighed and stared off into the forest for a moment. “Our friend Diako has more than one employer, it turns out. One who will pay him more than we are paying him…if Mutara is dead.”

            “I knew he was a treacherous snake. How was this overlooked?”

            “Zakuani takes full responsibility.”

            “So what are we going to do with him?”

            Temujin raised a rebuking finger. “You’re not going to snap his neck, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

            “Then what? We can’t trust him.”

            “He can still hold a gun, so that makes him useful. Now, get some sleep, Bane. Leave Diako to me.”

            “Meanwhile Mutara’s getting farther away.”

            “He won’t get far in the jungle in the middle of the night without night vision. Don’t worry; we will find him again.”

            “How can we do that with two dozen children attached to us? Did you speak to the girl?”

            “I said sleep, Bane. We’ll discuss all this in the morning.” With that, Temujin turned back to the fire.

#

            Bane had not expected to fall asleep so easily, but he did. Equally surprising, nothing disturbed him until a boot nudged him. He found Zakuani standing above him, eyes drooping from fatigue. Quickly Bane struggled up to relieve him of guard duty.

            Morning light came slowly to the village, here beneath the towering trees. The bizarre sounds of night gave way to morning’s variety of bird calls and the cries of unseen animals, those that preferred day to darkness. Though still tired from his exertions, Bane welcomed the dawn, eager to hear Temujin’s plan and begin the pursuit.

            His stint on watch passed uneventfully. Of course Mutara was wise enough to know he alone could not take on three armed, well-trained men in order to reacquire his human commodity. No, the criminal would now be focused only on his own safety and survival. As Bane thought again of the frightened girl in Mutara’s hut, his fingers twitched with the desire to locate and crush the man.

            Temujin found Bane at first light. “Come. Eat. We must talk.”

            To Bane’s relief, none of the children had yet emerged from the huts, for he did not want them to see him without his mask while he ate. Quickly he injected himself with the usual dose of morphine to allow time for his brief breakfast. He and Temujin sat away from Zakuani and Diako, who both still slept.

            “Finding Mutara in this wilderness will be challenging, to say the least,” Temujin began. “Diako is unsure in what direction the man might be fleeing.”

            “He should have thought of that before he disobeyed orders and went after Mutara himself.”

            Ignoring the remark, Temujin directed his brown gaze toward the hut where Mutara had slept. “There _is_ someone, however, who might be able to tell us.”

            Bane followed his stare. “The girl? What has she said to you?”

            “Not much, but I’m hoping today will bring different results. Last night she was understandably shaken by what happened. All I learned was that she was indeed not abducted with the other children. She has been with Mutara for many months now, though in her current state, no doubt she has very little true sense of time, so it’s difficult to know for sure how long she indeed has been a prisoner. Eventually…”

            “We don’t have time to wait around for her to recover enough to share intel.”

            “True enough, my impatient friend. That is why I want you to speak with her as soon as you are done eating. You will take breakfast to her.”

            “Me? Jin, you saw how she reacted to me last night. If you really want her to remain silent, then by all means send me to her, but that’s not going to help us.”

            Temujin’s small smile was indulgent. “Listen to me, brother. There is something about her that you overlooked last night. An understandable oversight, considering the limitations of night vision and the brevity of your encounter.”

            Bane berated himself for his lack of observation as his thoughts raced backward to last night. To what could Temujin be referring? Images flashed back to him from Mutara’s hut. Wait…yes, there had been something…something about the girl’s face…a distortion of some sort.

            “Her scars,” Temujin said at last, patient as usual. “On her face and hands.”

            Bane’s memories were frustratingly unclear, and Temujin’s revelation increased his curiosity. “Scars from what?”

            “I didn’t ask her, for obvious reasons such as relevance and sensitivity, but they appear to be from an acid attack.”

            Bane reared back. “Attack? You mean someone intentionally exposed her?”

            “Yes. Though horrific, it is not uncommon in this part of the world. The attackers will splash it on their victims to purposefully disfigure their faces.”

            “But she is just a child. Why would anyone want to do such a thing to a mere child?”

            That tolerant look again from Temujin. Bane sighed at the foolishness of his own question. Cruelty needed no logic to exist. He knew this better than most.

            “I think,” Temujin said, “if you allow her to see your face, you may be able to form a line of communication through empathy, enough to allow her to open up a bit and share what she knows of Mutara. I’m hoping she can tell us what direction he may have taken, if he has any allies or safe places in this region.”

            “But if my face traumatizes her a second time, she may never tell us anything. Why don’t you speak with her again? You’re easy to talk to.”

            “I am still a man, a stranger with a gun.”

            “So am I.”

            “Yes, but a stranger who has a better idea than most of the pain and suffering she has endured because of her disfigurement, as well as her captivity. If you share a bit about your own history that too could win her trust.”

            Bane frowned at the thought of revisiting such things, especially in front of a stranger. He wanted no one outside of the League to know about his past.

            Temujin’s expression hardened a bit. “Must I make this a direct order, Bane?”

            Bane finished the last of his breakfast and downed a protein drink. Then he muttered, “No. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

            “Leave such concerns to me. Now,” he handed Bane a banana leaf that held beans, rice, and dried pork on it, like a plate, “take this to her.”

            “I’m going to put my mask back on…to start with. I will see if she’s receptive to your ideas, Jin.”

            Temujin allowed a small nod of consent. “I will trust your judgment.”

            “Thank you. What language does she understand?”

            “She knows English, among others, I’m guessing, but I didn’t ask her.”

            “Did she tell you her name?”

            “Yes. Acayo.”


	8. Chapter 8

            There was no door on the hut and nothing to knock upon, so Bane simply stood outside and gently called, “Acayo, I brought you something to eat and drink. May I come in?”

            No response. But he knew she was in there; he had heard her moving about before he had spoken.

            “I won’t hurt you,” he added, bending down slightly but not enough to look through the low opening, not ready for her to see his mask again. “You have my word.”

            He waited, tried to be patient, glanced over his shoulder, saw a couple of the children tentatively emerge from their huts, sleepy-eyed; quickly he turned away before they could notice his mask.

            “Acayo, are you not hungry?”

            A brief silence, then a small, quiet, “Yes.”

            Bane lowered the food to ensure that she could see and smell it. “Then may I bring this to you?”

            Again he waited, held his breath, listened closely until finally he heard her say, “Come in.”

            Steeling himself against whatever may come, he bent even lower and entered the dim hut, the banana leaf thrust forward so Acayo would hopefully focus on the food first. The girl sat, tense and stiff, near the opening that Mutara had torn into the rear wall, as if ready to bolt through it should the need arise. Her chocolate-colored eyes lifted from the food to Bane, and she shrank back slightly, her full lips parted.

            “It’s all right,” he crooned, his other hand held out to the side to show that he carried no weapon. “We just want you to eat. Here.” He edged toward her and set the banana leaf and his canteen down as close to her as he thought prudent, then retreated to one side of the door and crouched there.

            He could see the scars plainly now on her oval face, a random pattern of dark spatters across her brown skin, some patches of pink, concentrated mainly on her right side where she had taken the brunt of the acid. Her right eyelid had been damaged as well, unable to open as far as her left, distended, both eyes bearing the shadows of trauma and despair. Scarring gave her right eyebrow a jagged, broken look, further unbalancing the symmetry of her features. Her hair, as dark as Talia’s, was short, unkempt, and frizzled by the humidity. When her trembling hands reached for the food, Bane saw burn scars there as well.

            “Please eat,” he urged gently. “There’s also water in the canteen.”

            Acayo dragged the banana leaf close, watching him all the while.

            “Don’t let my mask frighten you. I must wear it.”

            She took the cap off the canteen, asked, “Why?” before she took a sip.

            “Like you, I have facial scars; I was once injured badly.”

            Some of the fear drifted away from her eyes. “Acid?”

            “No. I was attacked by a group of men.”

            Acayo’s slim fingers gathered some of the rice and shoved it into her mouth. “Why did they attack you?”

            “I was protecting a child, a girl younger than you. They wanted to hurt her.”

            She relaxed a bit more. “Did they?”

            “No. She escaped.”

            “Because you helped her?”

            “Yes.”

            Acayo swallowed the rice, studied him thoroughly for the first time. “Have you come to help _me_?”

            “Yes. You and the other children.”

            She returned her attention to the food and nodded as if not quite convinced. Silence stretched between them as he allowed her to eat in peace.

            “How old are you, Acayo?” he asked after a time.

            “Fourteen.”

            “How did you come to be with Joseph Mutara?”

            She swallowed hard, jaw tightening, the food not going to her mouth as swiftly now.

            “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I understand.”

            Acayo drank more, wiped her mouth with the back of one hand. Without meeting his eye, she softly asked, “Why did you help that little girl?”

            “She is someone very dear to me.”

            “Your daughter?”

            “No. Her mother was someone I…cared for very much; she was raped and murdered. Afterwards I was all her daughter had, and she was all I had.”

            “Where is she now?”

            “At our home. Far from here.”

            “Where are you from?”

            “I have no true homeland, and where I live now is a secret location. It must remain secret to protect those I love.” Bane tried to see her face. “Where are you from, Acayo?”

            “Uganda.”

            “Is that where you’ve always lived before now?”

            “Yes, before _he_ came.”

            “Mutara?”

            She nodded.

            “Are your parents alive?”

            “My mother died several years ago. My father was still alive the last I knew. But,” Acayo gestured to her face, “after this happened, he wanted nothing more to do with me. I went to live with my mother’s sister. She is a teacher. I helped her in the school.” Her lips twisted ruefully. “I wanted to be a teacher, too.”

            “You still can be…once we get you home.”

            Now she looked up at him, a tiny spark of hope in the depth of her eyes, a gaze of wonder, of one afraid to hope, as if she had given up her dream completely while in captivity.

            “But what if he comes back?”

            “My brothers and I are going to catch him.”

            “How?”

            “Well, we hope you will help us with that.”

            “Me?”

            “Yes. We thought you might know where Mutara would seek shelter or aid after he left here.”

            Acayo concentrated on her meal, a frown tugging at her forehead.

            “He won’t hurt you anymore, child. I promise you that.”

            Her frown deepened as she murmured, “What will you do to him if you catch him?”

            “Did you know he is wanted for horrific crimes, for his part in the Rwandan genocide?”

            “Yes. He has told me stories of what he has done. I did not want to listen, but he made me.” She shuddered. “He told me he would do things like that to me if I tried to run away.”

            “We will see that he is brought to justice, that he is made to pay for his crimes.”

            “You will not kill him?”

            “That is not part of my brief.”

            “He deserves to die.”

            “Yes, no doubt. However, that is not for me or you to decide. That is for the people of Rwanda. But believe me, I want what you want. Unfortunately I must follow orders. I am a soldier.”

            “You are not the leader of your men?”

            “No.”

            “It is the small, dark man?”

            “Yes; Temujin.” Bane watched her gnaw tentatively on the smoked meat. “Acayo, will you help us? _Can_ you?”

            She picked up the empty banana leaf and licked any residual morsels from it. Setting it down, she took up the pork again and finished that. “There is a place southwest of here, on the way to where he was taking the children, maybe two days’ walk. Supplies are stored there, like here. That might be the place he goes to.”

            Bane leaned forward. “If we showed you a map, could you identify its location?”

            Acayo studied him with suspicion now, veiled but detectable. The fear had been tempered by a long-suppressed courage, that of someone who knew she had value to these strangers as long as she had knowledge that they required, knowledge that gave her power; Bane saw that realization in her large eyes, and he liked her even more.

            “Show me your face,” Acayo said, a stern set to her jaw.

            Behind the mask, Bane smiled at her intelligence. Now that she knew his motivation for coming to her, she doubted his authenticity, and thus demanded proof.

            “Very well,” he rumbled. “But I can be without the mask only for a moment.”

            “You cannot breathe without it?”

            “Its purpose is not for respiration, not directly.”

            “But if you cannot be without it long, then you must wear it for more than just to hide your scars.”

            “I do not wear it out of shame or self-consciousness over my appearance, I assure you.”

            “Then why?”

            “I will do as you ask, but the mask’s function is irrelevant to your purpose, is it not? Like you, there are many things I wish not to discuss.”

            She seemed to consider this, her curiosity over what lay hidden greater than her desire to understand the apparatus’s practicality, for she nodded and shifted her weight onto her knees, rising slightly in anticipation.

            Bane knew the morphine he had injected before breakfast would protect him from most of the pain, but the old fears always returned just before removing the mask, fears that he would keep from Acayo, yet ones that now slowed his fingers.

            As he revealed his face, he forced himself to witness her response. Her eyes widened with surprise then softened with empathy as they traveled over his torn lips, scarred cheeks and chin, and his mangled nose. Satisfied, she nodded, and he secured the mask once again.

            “A doctor could not help you?” she asked.

            “Perhaps. But going to a hospital would have separated me from the child I told you about. I could not allow that.”

            Acayo grew pensive, looked away. “Thank you for showing me. I am sorry you suffer.”

            “Do not let it trouble you.”

            “I hope the little girl appreciates your sacrifices.”

            “She does.” Bane settled back upon the ground, paused. “Will you help us find Mutara?”

            Acayo drank more water, held it in her mouth for a long moment, puffing out her cheeks with it, as if trying to wash something away, some bad taste, then she swallowed. “What will you do with the children?”

            “That is for my commander to decide, but they will be safely delivered to their families, I assure you, as will you, whether you help us or not.”

            Still some doubt in the slight twist of her lips. “That place I told you about…where Mutara might be going…”

            “Yes?”

            “I cannot show you on a map, but…” Acayo put the cap back on the canteen, studied it. “I can take you there.”

            Not just intelligent, Bane thought, but brave as well. Of course. How else could it be when she had managed to survive so much? Just like Talia…

            “The journey would be too dangerous for you,” Bane said. “And I would not want you subjected to seeing Mutara again.”

            “I have made the journey twice before.”

            “Because you had no choice, no alternative. If Mutara knows you are the one who brought us to him, he may do something desperate to try to hurt you, or worse. I cannot allow such a risk, and no doubt my supervising officer will not allow it either.”

            “Then you must find Mutara without my help.” She crossed her arms.

            “Child, this is not a game. Do you not want this man brought to justice?”

            “Justice would be a bullet to his head, but you said you will not kill him.”

            “I told you—I am a soldier who follows orders, and our orders are to capture him alive. If you mean to negotiate on this point, it will do you no good.”

            “The man who came in here last night with the knife tried to kill Mutara.”

            “So he did, but he was acting on his own, against orders. It will not happen again.”

            “You did not kill him for disobeying?”

            “No.”

            “Mutara would have.”

            “Yes, and so would I, but as I said I am not in command of this operation.”

            Acayo’s arms remained crossed. “Tell the small, dark man what I said—I will lead you to Mutara if you take me with you. Since you say he is the one in command, it will be _his_ decision to make. It does not matter if _you_ say no.”

            Keeping the smile of approval from his eyes took determination. Yes, she was indeed a clever one.

            “Why do you insist on accompanying us, child? Perhaps you wish to help Mutara?” He knew this was not true, yet used this ploy to stir her better sense.

            Indignation raised the pitch of Acayo’s voice. “I would never help him!”

            “Then tell us where we can find him.”

            “I told you I cannot.”

            “You _will_ not.”

            “I cannot point to it on a map; I do not know where it is. But I do know how to find it. Why do you not understand?”

            Bane fell silent, studied her. She did not turn away, though her restless fingers on the canteen betrayed her unease. As if knowing he suspected her anxiety, she tried to mask it with a bold move—inching forward enough to set the canteen within his reach. He retrieved it, swished the contents around as he considered this frustrating situation, then clipped it to his belt. Slowly he got to his feet, hunched over.

            “I will tell Temujin what you have proposed. I shall return.” He started through the doorway but paused long enough to ask, “Did you have enough to eat? I can bring you more.”

            “Maybe a bit more?” Hesitation in her request, perhaps fear that her stubbornness about Mutara had damaged their rapport.

            “Very well.”

#

            Bane found Temujin checking on the dressing on Diako’s leg. Zakuani stood a few meters away by the children, talking on a satellite phone. The youngsters were finishing breakfast and talking amongst themselves, more at ease now, as if the reality of their rescue was finally sinking in. But most of the conversations trailed off when the children caught sight of Bane. Some stared, some looked away; more uncertainty than fright on their faces, a small consolation to him. A couple of girls began to whisper back and forth behind shielding hands.

            Diako avoided Bane’s eyes as Temujin got to his feet and reached for his rifle. Bane’s anger toward Diako remained, but he managed to restrain it.

            “Were you successful?” Temujin asked.

            “I’m not certain.” Bane glanced back toward the hut. “Acayo says she thinks she knows where Mutara will go, but she can’t pinpoint the location on a map.”

            “Was she able to tell you how to find it?”

            “She says she can lead us there.”

            “Excellent. Gather your gear; we’ll be moving out directly.”

            Temujin started to turn toward Zakuani, but Bane grabbed his arm.

            “You mean you plan on taking Acayo with us?”

            “Of course.”

            Bane pulled Temujin as gently as his indignation allowed away from Diako. “You can’t be serious.”

            Temujin’s cool glance at Bane’s grip caused him to free his SO. “The girl can help us fulfill our mission; why wouldn’t we take her?”

            “Jin…she’s just a child. She’s not strong enough for this; she’s not trained. It’s dangerous.”

            Temujin said nothing for a moment, showing little more than slight irritation, as if waiting for Bane to figure out a riddle without any clues. Finally he asked, “Why are we here?”

            Bane’s jaw clenched, and he glowered at his friend; this was no time for another lecture.

            “Did you not understand my question, Bane?”

            “To capture Mutara,” he gritted out.

            “And to do that we will do whatever is necessary, yes?”

            “Of course.”

            “ _Whatever_ is necessary.” Temujin stared him down. “Searching for Mutara ourselves at this point would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, don’t you agree?” Then some of the steel left his tone. “Gear up and fill our canteens. Tell Acayo we will be moving out shortly.”

            “Surely not all of us.”

            “No. Zakuani is contacting the authorities. He will shepherd the children to a place north of here where Diako said a helicopter will be able to land.”

            Bane watched the murmuring youngsters. “How far away?”

            “Several hours’ hike, considering that they will need to stop for frequent rests.” Temujin cast a disparaging look at Diako. “Not just for the children but for our deceptive friend there.”

            “Why would you trust him with this task?”

            “He has lost the ability to collect from his other employer, so it’s safe to assume he will want to collect from us, and he cannot do that without making himself useful. Isn’t that right, Diako?”

            Diako muttered something in Swahili and fussed with his bandage.

            “Now, see to the canteens, Bane,” Temujin said. “Then tell Acayo we are grateful for her assistance.”


	9. Chapter 9

             _“Climb, Talia. Climb and don’t look back!”_

_Talia heard Bane’s words as clearly as she had the day of her escape from the pit. However, she_ had _looked back; she had seen his sweet lips form the word, “Good-bye,” just before he was finally overpowered by the inmates, no fear in his eyes, only resignation for himself and hope for her. But this time, in her nightmare, she stopped climbing; she rejected freedom, she forsook finding her father. Instead, she went back to help Bane, knowing even as she descended that a ten-year-old girl would have no chance against so many enraged men. But she had to go back to him; she could not abandon him after all he had done for her and her mother. If he were to die, she would die with him._

_With a war cry, she leapt upon the writhing, shouting, cursing pile of prisoners who had borne Bane down to the stone floor of the_ bawdi _. She kicked, clawed, punched and bit, doing everything she could to reach Bane, to touch him one last time, to let him know she had not deserted him. The men turned on her. Hands reaching, tugging, grasping; leering eyes and wet, savage mouths, foul words, words they had once directed at her mother. She struggled wildly, terror now overpowering her anger. Talia screamed, but it was her mother’s screams that she heard, echoing from that terrible day when she had been murdered. Then Talia saw Bane, lying where he had fallen, bloody, battered, almost unrecognizable, unmoving. And she called desperately to him, over and over as the inmates shredded her clothes._

            “Talia…Talia, wake up.”

            A hand upon her shoulder, shaking her, gently at first then stronger until she fled the nightmare. Her eyes opened to find Akar hovering above her, a worried frown upon his scarred face, beyond him the gray interior of the cave. He sighed in relief and rested back on his haunches.

            “What is it?” she groggily asked, a headache pounding against her temples.

            “You were shouting…for Bane. You were having a dream.”

            Talia put a hand to her warm forehead, grimaced. “A nightmare.”

            “Are you all right?”

            Unsure, she sighed, pushing herself to a sitting position against her pack, which she had been using for a pillow. A thermal blanket covered her, but she felt chilled. Her mind moved slowly, reluctantly; she felt as if a part of her was still back in the pit. Perhaps it always would be.

            “What were you dreaming about?” Akar asked, sitting on the cave floor next to her but not too close. Behind him, his bedroll was already neatly put away.

            Talia noticed morning light trickling in from the mouth of their hideaway; she had slept later than she had expected to. Instead of the anticipated morning hunger, she felt a slight wave of nausea.

            Akar continued to press, “Do you think Bane is in trouble? Maybe that’s why you dreamed about him.” Worry etched Akar’s dark face, for he had always believed in the prophetic powers of dreams.

            “No,” Talia was quick to assure. “It was a…a memory.”

            “A bad one. You sounded afraid.”

            She frowned and avoided his scrutiny, settled back down beneath the blanket; after all, there was no real reason to get up if she was not hungry yet.

            “Was it about prison?”

            Talia wanted to close her eyes and sleep again, but she feared doing so would allow the nightmare back in.

            “You never talk about it,” Akar murmured, his single hand plucking aimlessly at the laces of his boots. He sounded hurt, surprising Talia.

            “I do…sometimes.”

            “With Bane.”

            “Yes.”

            He hesitated, eyes diverted. “You can talk to me, too…about anything. I know I’m only a servant, but…I’m a good listener, and I would never tell anyone else what you say to me.”

            Though Akar’s humility did not surprise Talia, the injury in his voice did. “I know you wouldn’t,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just not something that’s easy to talk about. And Papa has always said that I need to master my bad memories, so I figure the less I think or talk about them the faster I’ll forget them.”

            “I understand what your father means, but you’ll never forget them. They are a part of you. That’s what Bane says.”

            “Does Bane talk to you about his past?”

            “He has before but not recently and not a lot.”

            This did not altogether shock Talia, for she knew Bane and Akar trusted one another. Perhaps she should learn to trust Akar more, too. She had always kept him at arm’s length, not only because she knew he had a crush on her and she was unsure how to respond, but because she sensed her father preferred that she remember her privileged status as daughter of the Demon’s Head. And it was obvious from Akar’s words a moment ago that he sensed his master’s desire as well. During the past two years, Talia and Akar occasionally spent time together—ice skating, playing chess or other games—but those activities always took place in the common room or under the watchful eye of an escort if outside of the monastery walls. Now, here they were alone together, both defying her father and both subject to punishment once they returned to the monastery. Akar’s sacrifice for her made Talia feel not only guilty for putting him in such a position but also made her appreciative of him as a friend, respecting him for being a co-conspirator. Perhaps now was the time to show her appreciation by sharing some of herself with him.

            “The dream I had was about the day I escaped the pit,” she began. “But this time instead of climbing out and leaving Bane behind, I went back for him. I tried to save him, but it was too late; he was dead.” She closed her eyes for a moment, saw Bane’s face when the prisoners had ripped away his masking _shemagh_. “I should have gone back that day, Akar.”

            “No. You did the right thing; you did what Bane wanted you to do—you escaped.”

            “But at what cost? The inmates took their rage out on him since they couldn’t get to me. If I had stayed—”

            “If you had stayed, they would have killed you, and there’s no guarantee they wouldn’t have injured Bane anyway. He preferred death to living without you. Still does, I’m sure.”

            “But you heard Papa the other day—if he has his way, Bane and I will be living without each other anyway. He could even send him away from here, away from our home.”

            “Not if you obey your father and let Bane do his job. But this,” he gestured around the cave, “this is not obeying your father. We should go back now.”

            Akar’s return to insisting that she bow to her parent’s will irritated her, curbed her inclination to expose her past and the emotions tied to it. She drew the blanket closer to her chin. “I’m not feeling very well this morning. It’s best if I sleep a while longer.”

            Akar reached out, but then hesitated with his hand halfway between them, drawing a puzzled look from Talia. Of course to touch her bare flesh would be to break an unspoken rule, but, resolved, he laid his hand to her forehead. “You’re warm. Do you have a fever?”

            “No. I’m fine.” Talia brushed his hand away, not because she was repulsed but because she wanted to dismiss his concern. “You sound like Choden. I just need some rest.”

            “If you are becoming sick, we need to go back home right now, before you get worse.”

            “Don’t be silly; it’s nothing. Now, let me sleep, and you’ll see—I’ll be better this afternoon.”

            “Talia—”

            “Could you brew some fresh tea? That will make me feel better, too, I’m sure.”

            Akar sighed, started to say more, but Talia turned on her side, away from him, ending the conversation. Though she regretted her rudeness, she did not want him to suspect just how physically poor she indeed felt. He muttered something in his native tongue under his breath, an impertinence he would never dare back at the monastery. _Perhaps_ , she wondered, _I am rubbing off on Akar. Papa would not be pleased by that either._

#

            Bane, Temujin, and Acayo made good time in the first half of the steamy day. Acayo led them along narrow paths, ones she said were traveled by nomadic pygmies, the same people whose huts they had left behind that morning. By the afternoon, however, Acayo’s adrenaline had worn off, and her pace slowed considerably.

            “May I rest a little?” Acayo asked Temujin.

            “I prefer we go a bit farther first.”

            Bane wanted to plead the girl’s case but knew better. Instead he said, “If you have no objections, Acayo, I can carry you.”

            She hesitated. “I will tire you.”

            “No. You are little more than skin and bones, child. How could a feather tire me?”

            Temujin nodded to her. “He is the strongest man I know, Acayo. You won’t tax him.”

            She frowned, having stopped to look at Bane with concern.

            “Come, come,” Temujin urged. “We are losing time.”

            Bane waited for her, using his pointed gaze and raised eyebrows to coax her to hurry. Finally, she gave in, her bare feet making no sound over the forest floor as she came back to him and stood there, shifting her weight uneasily, as if uncertain how he would carry her when he was already weighed down by pack and weapons.

            Bane crouched slightly to position himself more at her height. “Put your arm around my neck.”

            Acayo swallowed hard.

            “There is nothing to fear, child.”

            Her eyes flashed briefly to his. He could see that she wanted to believe him, but one sentence from a stranger could not erase months of abuse at the hands of Mutara.

            “My little one, the girl I told you about,” he said, “she weighs about the same as you, I would reckon. I carry her about like nothing. She enjoys teasing me by telling me I am her steed.” His smile tugged at the corners of his eyes and chased away some of Acayo’s tension.

            Tentatively she slipped her right arm around his neck. Her nostrils flared slightly with her increased respiration, and she seemed confused over where to look, whether into his eyes or at his mask, so close to her.

            “Now, then,” Bane said quietly, “here we go.”

            As gently as he could, he lifted her, holding her as if she were a babe. Indeed, she weighed close to Talia; though older and taller, she lacked Talia’s muscle—beneath his fingers, there was little more than flesh over Acayo’s bones. The thought of Mutara withholding food from her fired Bane’s blood once again.

            They started out in silence, Temujin falling in behind so Acayo could see what lay ahead. She remained stiff in Bane’s arms and trembled slightly. He searched for something to say that would distract her from her fears.

            “We have more in common than just our scars,” he began but said no more until she gained the courage to meet his gaze. Her eyes reminded him of Akar, and he hoped the boy was keeping Talia out of trouble. “But you will never guess what that is,” he continued, then waited again.

            As expected, Acayo’s curiosity pushed through her trepidation, and she asked, “What is it?”

            He smiled in satisfaction. “Remember how you told me about your father, about how he rejected you?”

            “Yes.”

            “Well, it was the same with my father.”

            “Because of your scars?”

            “He never saw my scars, not the physical ones at least, though he did see the mask, an earlier version, that is.”

            “Then why didn’t he want you?”

            Bane kept his focus forward, always attentive to their surroundings. After all, there was no guarantee that Mutara was indeed heading to his next supply dump; he could be in the vicinity, could have laid snares for anyone pursuing him.

            “My parents had been separated by unfortunate circumstances, so my father had been unaware of my birth. He knew nothing about me for years until I managed to locate him and present myself. I was a grown man by then, so there was no need for him to feel obligated to provide for me, and our meeting proved that he had no desire to provide for me emotionally either.”

            “Was he cruel to you? Did he say mean things?”

            “No, it wasn’t like that at all. It was just…too late for us. I’m certain if he had been there for my birth, if my parents had not been apart, our relationship would have been much different. He is not an evil man, not like his own father was, but his world is much different than mine, and there is no room in it for me.”

            “Do you see him still?”

            “No. We live far from one another. It is best that way. He has his path, and I have mine. Very different worlds.” Bane realized Acayo had relaxed, the tremors gone from her limbs.

            “Maybe one day you will see him again.”

            “No. That time is past. I am no longer the same man who sought him out.” He caught her sad frown and asked, “Do you see your father?”

            “Yes, now and then. But he does not speak to me; he does not look at me.”

            Bane’s fingers twitched with a desire to destroy the man. “Is your aunt kind to you?”

            “Yes.”

            “I imagine she was devastated by your kidnapping.”

            Bane hoped his leading words would encourage Acayo to open up to him, to free some of the poison Mutara had forced upon her. But she offered nothing, only reached up to aimlessly touch her brown headscarf, which she had donned before leaving her hut that morning; it vaguely reminded him of Melisande’s _shemagh_. Acayo’s other hand moved slightly against the back of his neck, as if seeking a better hold.

            “Well,” he said after the awkward silence, “soon your aunt’s misery will be over, and you will be back in her classroom.”

            “What if she does not want me…after this?” Acayo murmured. “Will she be ashamed, like my father?”

            Bane wanted to assure her otherwise, but he was a stranger to her culture. He had no idea what the reaction of those in her village or town would be, and he certainly was not going to give her false hope in matters foreign to him. Yet he desired to offer something.

            “When this is over, Acayo, we will not simply abandon you to whatever fate awaits you back in Uganda. You are assisting us in our mission. We, and our brothers, will show you our appreciation, rest assured.”

            “Bane,” Temujin spoke from behind, his tone one of caution, and so Bane tempered any other comment on the subject.

            Acayo perhaps picked up on Temujin’s meaning, for she offered no reaction. Perhaps she simply did not believe Bane. Yet regardless of Temujin, regardless of even the League, Bane vowed that he would not forsake this girl. Without his benevolence after this was over, she could very well be completely on her own in the world. His mind began to consider a number of options for Acayo.

            He marched on for several minutes, his senses sifting through the natural sounds of the forest and its population for any manmade noises, all the while thinking about Acayo and a myriad of other things, including Talia. His mind had a great capacity for multi-tasking, never being compromised by varied thoughts and ideas. The next time he looked down at Acayo, he found her asleep, her jaw slackening, her head drooping to the side, resting against his shoulder.

            “Bane,” Temujin said. “Wake her. We can’t go blundering through the trees without her direction.”

            “Perhaps let her sleep just a moment or two,” Bane said quietly over his shoulder, away from her ears.

            “Bane,” Temujin growled.

            Bane frowned, then gently shook Acayo awake. As her eyelids fluttered open, he murmured, “I’m sorry, but we need your guidance.”

            “Yes, of course,” she mumbled groggily. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to—”

            “It’s all right. We understand.”

            She looked around, as if to gauge their position, then seemed to realize they had not gone far since she had dozed off. Again she relaxed and tried to stay awake, turning her attention to Bane’s mask.

            “You are breathing harder,” she said.

            “It is the humidity.”

            “Or because you are carrying me.”

            “No. I told you—your weight is nothing to me. I have never been in an environment such as this. It is taking some time for me to acclimate.”

            “So you come from some place cold? I cannot place your accent.”

            “My place of origin was populated by people of many different tongues.”

            Acayo studied his mask, lifted her hand once as if compelled to touch it, but she refrained. “It must be very uncomfortable, especially in this heat. It is very tight, I can see.”

            It had been a long time since anyone had spoken with pity about his affliction, and such sentiments made him uncomfortable, so he offered no response. Acayo seemed to understand, perhaps because of her own deformities. His sudden reticence, however, backfired when the silence allowed Acayo to drift off to sleep once again. Bane turned so Temujin could see, causing his SO to sigh in capitulation.

            “Very well; we will stop.” Temujin raised a warning finger. “One hour only.”

            Though his commander spoke in a gruff tone, Bane saw compassion in his expression as Temujin shrugged out of his pack and set it on the ground as Acayo’s pillow. Gently Bane knelt without awakening her and lay her on the shaded ground. Then he shed his own pack and settled nearby, Temujin on his other side.

            “Before you rebuke me for my solicitude,” Bane said quietly, “remember, you are the one who insisted on bringing Acayo with us.”

            “I am well aware of my command decisions, Bane.” Temujin drank from his canteen before continuing. “But there is something _you_ are unaware of, something I’ve kept silent about and probably still should, especially considering my orders. However, I think I need to share this with you.”

            Bane raised a curious eyebrow.

            “Think back to when Rā’s briefed us.”

            “Very well.” It seemed so long ago; Bane felt as if he had been gone from Talia for a year.

            “He asked you about the children, if he needed to be concerned about your possible reaction to…unfortunate circumstances arising.”

            Bane scowled. “I remember.”

            “And you assured him there was no reason for concern.”

            “There isn’t.”

            Temujin’s attention went to Acayo. “The presence of the children is the very reason why Rā’s chose you for this assignment.”

            Bane stared at him, wondering if he had heard correctly.

            “I reminded you this morning,” Temujin said, “that we must do whatever is necessary to accomplish our mission. Though you have been initiated into the League, your training continues, as you know. That is why your first assignments are also tests, tests in which you must prove your worthiness to be in the field. This mission is the most difficult one yet for you because of your bond with Talia.”

            “Talia isn’t here,” Bane growled.

            Temujin nodded toward Acayo. “She might as well be.”

            “Again, I will remind you that you were the one who insisted she come along. Are you saying that she is a part of some…test?”

            “She is here because she is crucial to the success of the mission. However, whether she lives or dies is not crucial as long as our objective is achieved. I defended you to Rā’s; I told him that I was confident in your judgment. But now,” he gestured toward Acayo, “watching you with her, I wonder if perhaps Rā’s al Ghūl’s doubts are indeed well-founded.”

            “You told me to earn her trust. I believe I have, as much as possible in such a short time. Now you’re chastising me for—”

            “I’m doing no such thing, Bane. I’m merely letting you know that I expect you to be focused on only one thing here. You must be able to see the forest through the trees. Because of your life with Talia, your instincts demand that you protect Acayo; she reminds you not only of Talia but of yourself because of her past trauma. In another situation, such instincts would be a noble trait, but here there is no room for such nobility. Not only must you be prepared for the worst happening, but you must _allow_ it if it leads to acquiring our target.”

            Bane knew Temujin spoke wisdom, yet it was still an unsavory lesson to hear with Acayo sleeping mere feet away.

            “You have no delusions about what you are, Bane, what we all are. We are instruments, tools, soldiers who follow orders, orders given with good reason and justice behind them. Objectives that serve many, not one. Mutara has done much more than harm one child. It is our job to stop him from hurting many more and to pay for the untold hundreds he directly or indirectly murdered. Must I say more?”

            “No. And you had no need to say much of what you have. You are right—I harbor no delusions, Jin.”

            “Yet you make that girl promises of returning home, promises that, as an honorable man, you will feel strongly compelled to keep. But such promises are not a part of why we are here.”

            Swallowing the bile in his throat, Bane stared into the forest, wished he had never come here. “You’ve made your point, Jin,” he grumbled.

            Temujin paused, studied him, then nodded to himself. “Very well. Now, one of us might as well rest along with Acayo. And judging by the fire in your eyes, you have little ability to relax at this moment. So…” Temujin dragged Bane’s pack over to use as a pillow. “Wake me in an hour. And, Bane…”

            Begrudgingly Bane turned to him.

            “Make sure it’s an hour and not a minute more.”


	10. Chapter 10

             _Talia struggled with every ounce of strength she had—kicking, biting, screaming. But nothing she could do, no amount of training with the League, could provide her with the strength to overpower her father. The student could never defeat the master._

_“You have disobeyed me for the last time, Talia.”_

_The desert heat suffocated her, the dust from her father’s feet choking her as he carried her, upside down, inexorably toward the mouth of the pit. Desperate, her sense of pride shredded, Talia began to cry._

_“Please, Papa, don’t send me back there! I’m sorry. I will obey you. I promise. Please…”_

_“It is too late for that. You are too willful for your own good…just like your mother.”_

_They reached the pit, the opening of the shaft yawning before her. She reached for the short wall that surrounded it, trying to grab hold before it was too late. Her father, however, lifted her higher, still upside down. Below her, only bottomless darkness. The pit’s cold breath surged upward, trying to draw her in._

_Someone ripped her away. She tumbled into the sand, heard a familiar sound—muffled breathing... Bane! Talia spun about on hands and knees, spitting dirt. Bane had her father in his grasp, hands around his throat, lifting him out over the pit._

_“No, Bane!” she tried to cry out but strangled on the grit in her throat. Frantically she scrabbled forward, reached for Bane’s leg._

_But it was too late. Bane let go of her father. The pit’s black maw swallowed R_ _ā’s al Gh_ _ūl._

            Talia awoke with a gasp. Akar, crouching near the hotplate, turned to look over his shoulder at her. Seeing her distress, he hurried closer, knelt down.

            “Another nightmare?”

            Nodding, she swallowed with difficulty, her throat swollen and sore. One lantern and the hotplate weakly illuminated the cave, enough light to show the deepening worry on Akar’s round face. Behind him, the entrance to the cave curved away, keeping the revealing glow from spilling into the night beyond.

            “About Bane again?”

            She closed her burning eyes, the pain in her head having increased during her nap. “Yes.” Purposefully she did not mention her father’s role in the dream.

            Akar’s cool hand touched her forehead, drawing her attention back to him. “Your fever is worse.” He sighed in frustration. “Talia, this has to end. In the morning, I must go back, or I must find one of our brothers out looking for you.”

            “You would leave me here alone?” Talia had no true fear of being by herself, but she knew appearing afraid would ensure Akar remain here. She was not ready to give in and return to the mountain.

            Akar slumped at her words, returned to the hotplate where a small pan of water boiled. “I have to _do_ something. This damp weather will make your illness worse. A cave is no place for a sick person.”

            “What if I become sicker while you’re gone?”

            He sighed again, lips pressing tight together. “Fine. I won’t leave, but I will attract attention to the cave. Your father will have all of his men out searching for you by now. I will make sure they find us.” He poured the hot water into a cup. “You might hate me, but I have a duty, you know. Not just to keep my promise to Bane, but a duty to the League. I may not be a warrior like the others, but I can still contribute, and getting you back home so Choden and your father can heal you is a part of that. You are important to the League, as your father has said.”

            Talia wanted to assure him that she could never hate someone as kind, gentle, and loyal as he, but she decided not to in the hopes that he would reconsider his plans.

            “There’s no need for concern or giving us up. I’m sure I will feel better in the morning, Akar. You’ll see. It’s nothing serious. We all get sick from time to time.”

            “Yes, but we don’t lie about in caves in the damp and cold. You need to be in your bed, in front of a roaring fire with some of Jamyang’s soup in you.”

            She smiled through her discomfort. “Now you sound like Bane or Choden.”

            “Choden will scold you for this until your ears fall off. No doubt he will attend you day and night until you are well. Your father will insist upon it.”

            Talia thought of her nightmare, her fingers moving restlessly against the edge of her blanket as Akar brought her tea. Slowly she sat up to receive the mug, and Akar pushed her pack, which had been serving as her pillow, behind her back for support.

            Staring at the pale brown liquid, Talia said, “When I was three years old, I caught a bad respiratory infection. It had gone through the whole prison. By the time I got it, all the antibiotics had been used up. Bane learned of an inmate who was hording a small supply of medicine. So, to earn enough of the prison’s currency to purchase the drugs for me, he arranged a fight. He was only about eighteen then, and of course the man he fought was older. It was someone who had a grudge against Bane, so my mother was very afraid for him, but she was also desperate for the medicine to help me. She told me when I was older that she knew I would have died without those antibiotics.” Talia frowned. “He won the fight, of course, as he did every fight he was in. When Mama was alive, she never let me watch him fight, but after she was gone, I did. Bane didn’t want me to, but once I was older he finally gave in and let me sit with Hans or Abrams to be safe.” Talia’s frown deepened. “I miss him so much, Akar.”

            “I know. So do I, but he’ll be back before we know it. You’ll see. And he must find you at home, safe and well when he does.”

            The thought of her soft, warm bed nudged at her, though she tried to swat away the longing. Then something caught her eye behind Akar, distracting her.

            “What’s that?” she pointed to a sturdy, tall stick leaning against the wall.

            He glanced backward. “It’s a staff I cut from a branch.”

            “What’s it for?”

            “I’m going to attach a piece of cloth to it and plant it outside the cave where it can catch someone’s eye.”

            “No, you won’t. I’ll take it down.”

            “I’ll put it back up.”

            “Akar…”

            “Drink your tea and don’t argue,” he said sternly, then quickly stood, as if taken by surprise by his own assertiveness. “I am the eldest here, and I know best. This foolishness has to stop.” He went to his pack and began rummaging through it.

            Stunned into silence by his tone and forgetting about the mug cupped between her hands, Talia watched him pull forth a shirt, which he then tied to the staff. Admiration stirred in her, and she saw Akar in a new light. She could not help but respect his determination.

            With his makeshift flagstaff in hand, he gave her one last uncompromising stare, then headed outside.

#

            Bane sat with his back to the small fire so its glow would not impede his vision. The discipline of his training barred the crushing fatigue that lay below the surface of his consciousness. All of his senses were alert to the night beyond this tiny clearing. A singular incongruous noise cut through the natural orchestration of the forest—Jin’s light snoring from where the Mongol lay two meters away. An equal distance to Bane’s right, Acayo slept, using Bane’s pack as a pillow.

            The second day of their journey had been exhausting for the girl, and Bane had often carried her. Through the many hours of arduous trekking through the jungle, they had limited their dialogue for the sake of stealth, though such a quality was difficult to achieve in these surroundings where they often had to use a machete to blaze a path, but Temujin insisted upon restraint. Now and then Acayo would whisper something to Bane, concerned as always that she was sapping his strength. After reassuring her yet again, he insisted she permanently abandon the subject. She had obeyed, and in fact said next to nothing from there forward, concentrating instead on staying awake so she would not impede their progress. By the time they had stopped here, Acayo gave them the welcomed news that they had only a few hours to go before reaching their destination. So now Temujin would sleep for two hours before allowing Bane to do the same, and this rest would carry them through the next morning.

            From somewhere not far distant, a wild animal called, loud and fierce. Bane gripped his rifle tighter. Acayo awoke with a gasp and stared into the night for a mere second before scurrying on hands and knees to Bane’s side.

            “It’s all right,” he softly said, noting that Temujin slept on without even a break in his snores. “The fire will discourage anything from testing us. Besides, it sounds like whatever it is—a big cat perhaps—has just made a kill, so he will have little interest in tasting us.”

            His attempt at humor failed to penetrate Acayo’s fear, which was no doubt amplified by having awoken so suddenly. She huddled close, though not touching him, hiding slightly behind, peering over his shoulder in the direction of the predator.

            “Go back to sleep, Acayo. You only have three hours left before we must leave.”

            She inched out from behind him, still on hands and knees. Her gaze flashed toward the black wall of forest before them, and she would go no farther.

            “May I stay here, by the fire…and you?”

            “You will be too warm near the fire.”

            “No.” Her attention remained in the trees. “Please,” she whispered.

            Bane hesitated, glanced at Temujin, frowned. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will fetch the pack.”

            Once he set the pack near the fire, Acayo asked, “Why aren’t you afraid?”

            “Fear serves no useful purpose.” He settled back down to his vigil, rifle across his lap.

            Acayo moved the pack closer to him. “Have you _ever_ been afraid?”

            “Of course.”

            “When?”

            “When I was a boy.”

            “What scared you?”

            He growled softly to himself, stared into the darkness. “My mother’s death, when I was first left alone to fend for myself. But I learned to adapt; I hid my fear and eventually mastered it.”

            Acayo slowly lay down, situating herself so that her head was close to him and on the opposite side of him from Temujin. Bane thought she would now try to fall back asleep, but instead she murmured, “I feel safe with you, but I shouldn’t. I don’t know you.”

            “Your instincts are telling you that you are safe. And you are. But your mind and body are used to being afraid, and thus they find it difficult to let go.”

            She hesitated. “I wish I was as brave as you.”

            “You _are_ brave. You just don’t know it.”

            “It’s not possible to be afraid _and_ brave.”

            “You could not have survived this long if you were not brave, Acayo.”

            “Then why don’t I feel brave?”

            He wanted to observe her but kept his attention dutifully on their surroundings. “When you look back on your experiences, you will understand. But right now you are in the middle of it.”

            “I have looked back,” her voice grew softer, distant. “Every day I look back to the day I was taken, and I’m ashamed.”

            Surprised by her broaching the subject of her capture, Bane glanced at her, asked, “Why?”

            Acayo remained silent for a long moment, and Bane figured she would say nothing more, but at last she began to speak in a distracted voice, like someone talking to herself instead of to another person. “Shortly before I was abducted, my aunt went away to visit her sister who was sick, so the school had another teacher for a couple of weeks. She came from another village; no one knew her. I didn’t like her straight away. I knew something wasn’t right, but I didn’t say anything to anyone. Who would listen to a girl like me anyway?”

            “As I said, you have good instincts, Acayo. Always listen to them.”

            “But I didn’t, not then. If only I had.”

            “What happened?”

            “She took the class on a picnic one day. I thought it foolish. The children were in school to learn, not run about the countryside. But she told me to keep my comments to myself, that my aunt obviously didn’t discipline me enough. And she said other horrible things about my face and how I probably deserved what I got.” Acayo paused. “I should have stopped her; I should have known.”

            “Known what?”

            “That she was up to something. A truck picked us up and took us away from town. The children were so excited. I didn’t want to disappoint them, so I acted happy, too. We traveled for over half an hour. When I asked the teacher why we had to go so far, she grabbed my arm so tightly that she hurt me and told me to pay attention to the children instead of questioning her authority. So I sang songs with them and played games. They had no idea.”

            Bane knew what was coming but kept silent, now and then glancing at Temujin to see if he remained asleep.

            “At last we stopped and got out with our baskets and food. Under some trees we put our blankets down. The truck drove away, and that worried me, but I knew it would do no good to say anything to the teacher. The children were so excited, we could hardly get them to sit down and eat. Some of them had never been away from town before. Time went by, and as we played games, I thought maybe I had been worried for nothing. But then another truck arrived, this one with a cover over the bed, and men with guns got out. The children didn’t notice at first; they were too busy playing. The teacher went right up to one of the men, and I realized she had been expecting them. I called to the children and told them to all come to me. When they noticed the guns, some were scared and began to cry. Two of the men came over and told the children to be quiet. They were angry, ugly men, and I did my best to hush the students so they wouldn’t be hurt. I tried to think of a way to escape. I wanted to run into the trees.” She fell into shameful silence for a moment. “I was ready to abandon my students and save myself.”

            “It was your survival instinct kicking in, Acayo. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

            “I should have listened to those instincts before we ever left the school.”

            “As you said, there was nothing you could have done. The teacher was in control. You did the right thing—you stayed with your students.”

            “But I didn’t save them from Mutara. That’s who had paid the teacher to bring them there. She just walked away afterwards as they loaded us onto the truck and took us away, took us to him.”

            “How long ago was that?”

            “I’m not sure. A year perhaps, maybe more.” She sniffed, and Bane caught movement as she wiped her eyes. “When I get home, I’m going to find her. I’m going to kill her.”

            “I doubt she remained in the area after that. She couldn’t exactly return to town and claim only she escaped. No, I would assume she moves about, doing the same thing in other places for men like Mutara.” Now he looked into her wet gaze. “Perhaps I can convince my brothers to find this woman and bring her to justice.”

            Acayo’s expression held little hope…and perhaps disappointment that anyone but she would exact vengeance on the woman.

            “What happened to the children?” Bane asked.

            “He sold them. Some of the boys were forced to become soldiers, the older ones. The younger ones went to the diamond mines. The girls…their fates were worse, of course. Much worse.”

            “And he kept you.”

            “No one would pay to have me, he said, because of my face. He said I was good for nothing but to warm his bed and cook his meals.”

            Bane waited until she met his stare, then he said, “Tomorrow Mutara will learn how wrong he is when you help us bring him to justice, justice for those children and for you. He no longer has power over you. And he never will again. The power will be yours.”

            A small smile tempted her scarred lips, a flicker of courage chasing away her tears.

            “Now,” Bane said, “you must close your eyes and rest.” He turned back to the trees. “Soon we’ll be moving again, and you will need your strength. Besides,” his eyes crinkled slightly, “if Temujin awakes and finds us talking, I will have to endure another lecture. You would not want us to be subjected to that again, would you?”

            “No,” she said, barely heard, sleepy again. A pause. “Thank you, Bane.”

            When next he glanced down, he saw that she had drifted off, all fear gone, her muscles relaxed.


	11. Chapter 11

            A man’s voice. Not Akar, not her father…not Bane. It sounded like Passat, one of her League brethren. Talia listened but refused to come fully awake. Was she still in the cave? Or was this another dream? No, something told her she was not dreaming this time.

            “I will contact her father; he is not far,” the man said, moving away.

            _No!_ Talia cracked her eyelids, saw the back of the man as he disappeared from sight, heading outside the cave into weak morning light. Akar remained behind, shifting uneasily from foot to foot until he noticed her scrutiny, then he fled the cave. Indignation stirred in Talia, and she considered throwing back the blanket and going after Akar, but she knew her illness would never allow such physical activity. No, she was stuck here now; there would be no escape from her father’s fury. Resigned, she closed her eyes. Her only hope was that her sickness would curtail his anger. _Well_ , she thought, _at least now he will realize how serious I was about his unreasonableness toward me and Bane. And I’ll rebel again, if need be_.

            Talia was unaware how long it took for her father to arrive, for she eventually drifted back into fevered sleep. But when she heard him gently say her name, she caught his familiar scent, felt the touch of his large hand against her cheek, and awakened. His blue-gray eyes were soft for only a relieved instant, then they hardened.

            “Foolish child,” he said, his voice deepening with displeasure. “Once you are safely home, I will ask you why you’ve done this.”

            “How can you not know?” Talia, indignant, croaked out through her swollen throat.

            Behind her father, Akar and Passat moved about, packing up what she and Akar had brought to the cave.

            Her parent delivered a sharp, cutting look. “I said we will discuss this once we are back at the monastery.” He glanced pointedly over his shoulder. “A place to which Akar will not be returning.”

            Akar made no remark, his shoulders rounding as he bent to his task.

            “Why not?” Talia demanded.

            “Need you ask?”

            She struggled to sit up. “He had nothing to do with this, Papa. He tried to stop me from leaving home.”

            “He easily could have stopped you by alerting me. Now, I said, no more—”

            “I threatened him. He had no choice. He only came along to protect me. And he’s been trying to get me to return ever since we left. You must believe me. It was his idea to put the flag outside. Isn’t that how you found me?”

            Frantic, Talia watched Akar dutifully continue to gather their things, as if not hearing his fate. Perhaps her father had already told him about it before she had awoken.

            “This is my fault, Papa. Akar should not be punished for my decisions. He wasn’t defying _you_ ; he was protecting _me_. Don’t you see?” A spate of coughs interrupted her entreaty, making her chest ache even more. “If he hadn’t come with me, you might never have found me. Or at least not until it was too late.”

            “Enough, Talia. We are leaving. More bad weather is on the way, and we must make it back before it arrives.”

            Talia’s headache had worsened with the argument, but it did not curb her protests as her father began to put her boots on her feet.  “You can’t send Akar away. He has nowhere to go.”

            “He will accompany us to our valley, then Passat will escort him to the village. He can live there, among his people.”

            “They aren’t his people; we are. Papa, please—”

            “Talia,” Akar quietly beseeched, drawing her attention. He shook his head. “It’s all right. I accept my punishment. It is just.”

            “No, it’s not!” She tried to pull her feet away from her father, but he glared at her and captured her ankle in an iron grip.

            “Not another word, Talia,” he growled, reminding her for a moment of Bane.

            Passat smoothly took her pack from behind her.

            When Akar frowned and shook his head to discourage her defiance, angry tears blurred Talia’s vision. How could he be so stoic and brave in the face of exile? What would he do, a young man with no family or friends beyond the monastery, handicapped, in such a remote region? And to think this was all because of her…

            The lightheadedness returned, and she felt color drain from her face. Every breath hurt her chest. Every muscle in her body ached. How could she make it home?

            “You must calm down,” Akar said. “Your father will carry you, and soon you’ll be home.”

            The thought of home without Akar, without Bane, increased the tears, but she refused to let them flow in front of her father. Bane. What would he do when he returned to find Akar banished, and all because of her? Would he do something rash that would anger her father? Or would he be able to convince his master to allow Akar to return? If Bane had not been sent away so soon after his previous mission, none of this would be happening.

            Exhausted by the brief argument, Talia lay back until the men were ready to leave. She needed to clear her mind so she could concentrate on finding a solution. That was the advice Bane would give her in this situation if he were here. She could not allow Akar to be banished.

#

            Bane came to an abrupt halt when Acayo’s hand shot into the air ahead of him. She melted into a crouch amongst the heavy foliage, and Bane and Temujin hurried to her side.

            “What is it?” Temujin whispered.

            “Listen,” she said, a finger raised.

            Bane held his breath, strained to hear anything beyond the usual sounds of the forest and his own muffled breathing.

            “Water,” Temujin said at last.

            “Yes,” Acayo replied, eyes round and anxious, fingers nervously playing with a broad, glossy leaf on the plant before her. “It’s the waterfall. We’re here.”

            The foliage was too dense and the waterfall too distant for them to see it, so Bane felt confident that they remained hidden from Mutara, if he was perhaps near.

            “Like I told you, the cave is behind the falls,” Acayo quietly said. “There is only one way up, and that’s along the rock facing on the far side.”

            “Is there a way around to the other side that will keep one of us hidden?” Temujin asked.

            “There is a better chance of not being seen if you cross the creek above the falls. If you cross downstream, Mutara will see you for sure. First, we have to know if he’s even there. I will go alone to find out.”

            “No, Acayo,” Bane said.

            “He won’t shoot at _me_. I can distract him while you cross upstream.”

            “It’s not necessary,” Bane insisted. “And it’s too dangerous.”

            “Bane.” Temujin scowled at him. “Let her speak.”

            “You can’t seriously be thinking of sending her in there, Jin.”

            “If you go instead and corner him,” Acayo said, “he will take his own life; he won’t surrender. But if I can lure him out—”

            “And how will you do that?” Bane growled.

            “I will tell him you’re following me, that I ran away because you tried to kill me and that you’re coming for him; you’re close behind, and we should run. I can get him to come out of the cave. You can both be in position by then to take him. I’ll make sure I walk behind him. If he goes for his gun, I’ll be close to stop him.”

            “You are a child, and no match for a dangerous, desperate man,” Bane said.

            “I know him better than anyone; I can convince him to leave the cave.” She looked at Temujin, and her tone hardened, “You want him alive, don’t you?”

            “It’s a sound plan,” Temujin said.

            Bane gritted his teeth to keep from exploding. “It’s reckless and foolish. I won’t allow it.”

            “You will follow orders, Bane,” Temujin said. “You are not in command of this operation, and such shortsightedness on your part may keep you from leading any in the future. We have discussed contingencies, you and I, haven’t we? It appears you have already forgotten. Well, I’m reminding you now of our objective, as well as my expectations and mandate. Do you understand?”

            “I’ve forgotten nothing. I’m just saying there must be another way.”

            “When faced with options in the field, you always choose the most straightforward one. Acayo is graciously and bravely offering herself as an ace in the hole. We would be fools if we didn’t accept her aid. Now, we are wasting time. Mutara could be slipping away as we sit here debating this. You _will_ follow orders, Bane, or you will stand down, and I will be forced to report your insubordination.”

            Though Bane knew he was out of line, it again took a mighty effort to control himself.

            Acayo touched his arm, gentle but firm, pulling his attention to her determined expression. “I’ll be all right, Bane. I’m not afraid. I want to do this. You gave me so much to think about last night. The day I was kidnapped, I failed all those children and their families. I want to redeem myself and help bring closure to them by seeing Mutara brought to trial. I must put those families before my personal vengeance.”

            Temujin rewarded her with a small smile. “A noble desire, Acayo. I honor you for it.”

            Of course Bane knew Temujin’s threats were not idle ones, and rightly so. The Mongol may be his friend, but in the field he was his commander, plain and simple, no ambiguity about it. This was a test, he reminded himself. Failure was not an option, not failure of the mission and not personal failure. This was his life now, and if he wanted to remain in the League, if he wanted to remain close to Talia, he needed to do what was necessary, no matter how odious and against his conscience. And so, he swallowed his pride.

            “I, too, honor you, Acayo,” he said.

            A relieved smile brightened her face. “Thank you.”

            “Very well, then,” Temujin said. “Acayo will guide us above the falls where she will leave us under cover. From there we will allow her enough time to reach the cave. Then we will cross and position ourselves to take Mutara when they descend.”

            As the three crept cautiously by the right flank to reach the fording point, Bane wished they had been able to press on last night and reach this location when it was still dark. Yet perhaps Mutara was not even here. Maybe he had already come and gone. Thus delaying another minute, let alone for nightfall, would be unwise.

            In their caution, it took them over half an hour to reach the stream well above the falls. During that time, they detected no one else nearby. Bane was not surprised; Mutara, if here, would stay close to the protection of the cave.

            “You must make your presence known to Mutara before you get too close to the cave,” Temujin cautioned Acayo. “He may have set up booby-traps along the approach.”

            “I will,” she whispered where she crouched between the two men.

            “Very well,” Temujin said. “Now, you must go.”

            Acayo hesitated, and Bane noticed that her fingers trembled. If only they could give her a weapon, but unfortunately her simple, sack-like dress offered no place for concealment, and he had no idea if she even knew how to fire a gun.

            Gently his big hands engulfed her bony shoulders, turning her toward him. She rolled her scarred, discolored lips together as if trying to hide a tremor there while she struggled to meet his gaze.

            “You can do this, Acayo. You must forget about us and believe that you are alone; believing that will help you play the part. You must be convincing. Men like Mutara are not easily deceived, but I have faith in you and your courage. As you said, you know him better than anyone does. Use that knowledge against him. Control your fear. We will be waiting; we will protect you.”

            “Bane,” Temujin said. “Let her go.”

            The Mongol’s tone and choice of words did nothing to ease Bane’s unrest. Carefully he lifted his hands toward her cheeks, half expecting her to flinch or pull away, allowing her a moment to do so. But she remained steadfast, and he took her damaged face in his hands, feeling the strange quality of her skin, saddened and angered by it, thinking of the smooth, soft flawlessness of Talia’s skin. Acayo’s eyelids fluttered with self-consciousness, but he maintained his touch and smiled at her from behind the mask.

            “You are braver than he is, Acayo. He is but a worm. And together we will crush him.”

            A tremulous smile found her lips, and she nodded.

            “You must go, child,” Temujin urged. “Bane…”

            With an encouraging nod, Bane freed her. Remaining in a crouch, she started to leave but paused long enough to look over her shoulder at him. Again he nodded, drawing that same tentative smile from her, then she slipped away into the forest in the direction of the waterfall.

            Bane found Temujin shaking his head, a small, amused smile lifting his thin mustache.

            “What?” Bane asked.

            “You are quite the conundrum, my friend.” He shifted his weight, glanced out from their cover to the nearby, quick-flowing stream. “I’ve seen you kill men with your bare hands without batting an eye, and in hand-to-hand combat no one is your equal except Rā’s; you thrive on violence. Yet I’ve seen two young girls twist you around their fingers like string.”

            “There is no mystery to it,” Bane grumbled, never appreciating Temujin’s psychoanalyzing. “I’ve always detested the strong preying upon the weak, even in prison.”

            “Perhaps in this case, the prey is not as weak as you think.”

            Bane stared in the direction Acayo had disappeared. “Let us hope you are right.”

            They fell into silence. Bane’s fingers twitched as he stared at his watch. Torturous minutes slipped by. Acayo’s direct route meant she had only a short distance to travel, so they would not be here long, yet it seemed an eternity. Temujin, as usual, maintained calm, as if they were sitting in the common room, enjoying morning coffee together. Though Bane had mastered the ability to appear just as serene on the outside, aside from the occasional restlessness of his fingers, he had yet to completely master the inner composure that his SO possessed, and he envied his friend for it.

            “Joseph!” Acayo’s hail reached faintly to Bane’s ears like a small wind chime. This meant she was downstream from the cave, about to ford the waterway. “Joseph, it’s Acayo!”

            Temujin touched Bane’s arm, signaled, and they silently left their cover to make their crossing. The clear water was wonderfully cool as it filled Bane’s boots and rose up his legs, reaching to his waist and slightly higher at midstream. He welcomed the brief feeling of being partly clean again, his sweat washed away. The stream’s embrace gave his system a mild jolt, sharpened his awareness even more with its slight chill.

            On the other side, he listened intently as they moved as silently as possible through the undergrowth. No more calls from Acayo; no return call from Mutara, not that Bane had expected any, for the man would be too cautious to be shouting about the forest, especially around water with its amplifying qualities. Was Mutara even there? Or would they find only Acayo waiting for them on this side of the waterfall? If Mutara was indeed at the cave, would Acayo truly be able to lure him out? Or would the man doubt her story?

            They worked their way through the forest, down a slope that trailed away from the stream, moving obliquely to descend to the level of the path that Acayo had told them she would take if Mutara agreed to flee. Bane guessed they were about forty or fifty meters from the waterfall. As foretold, a narrow path penetrated the forest, regularly traveled by animals and perhaps natives. Back in the direction of the falls, it appeared the path widened as it neared the stream, for more daylight penetrated there.

            As Bane settled into hiding amidst the underbrush to one side of the trail, with Temujin on the other side and farther down the path, he caught movement in the more open area. With even, deep breaths, he ensured his focus and calm, harkened to his training, considered the mission’s objective. Trying to avoid thoughts of Acayo’s dangerous role, he aimed his rifle down the path, sighted his scope, waited.

            Soon Acayo stepped into view, expression troubled. As she entered the more densely-covered portion of the path, Bane thought her to be alone; and his heart sank with disappointment. But then, in the next instant, he saw Mutara. Why was Acayo not behind him, as she had planned? In two long strides, the African caught the girl by the arm. She flinched and halted to look at him in question.

            Bane read Mutara’s lips, “You will stay close, like I told you, girl.”

            Bane’s grip tightened on his rifle. “Something is wrong,” he softly spoke into his com.

            Temujin’s tone carried a hint of chastisement: “He is being cautious. Of course.”

            Yes, Bane told himself, indeed Mutara would be suspicious of Acayo’s story, especially if fear had gotten the better of her when she had related her tale of pursuit. No doubt Acayo had tried to keep to the rear, out of their gunsights, but Mutara would have none of that. Bane pushed aside his widening concerns over the situation, stared hard through the scope.

            Closer they came. Acayo’s worried eyes swept her surroundings, as did Mutara’s dark glare. Mutara was not a big man, but his build appeared solid. His hair was close-cropped, several days’ growth of stubble giving his countenance a patchy, dirty look. High cheekbones and a lean face, a face that bore a certain strain upon it, the strain of one who knows he is being hunted. Bane again cursed Diako for disrupting their operation. Acayo would never be in such danger now if only the fool had obeyed orders.

            Orders. Reluctantly Bane reminded himself of his purpose for being here. Rā’s al Ghūl expected him to fail. He could not fail. He could not jeopardize his life with Talia, his promise to Melisande. Nothing and no one was more important.

            As Mutara drew near, his steps faltered, his eyes moved quicker, peered closer into the forest in Temujin’s direction. Surely Temujin was invisible. Yet perhaps it was not the sense of sight that warned Mutara but instead the instinct of a cautious man. Bane’s stomach felt like lead. He noticed that the forest had grown strangely quiet, as if all the wildlife had fled, sensing danger.

            Swiftly Mutara pulled Acayo even closer, directly in front of him like a shield. Then Bane saw the pistol in Mutara’s right hand, the muzzle against Acayo’s temple.

            “What are you doing?” she asked fearfully, easily heard now that they were almost parallel with Bane’s position.

            “Come out!” Mutara snarled. “I know you are there.”

            “They couldn’t have gotten in front of us,” Acayo insisted, voice shaking. “We must keep moving if we don’t want them to catch—”

            “Shut up!” Mutara took a backward step, and Bane feared he would retreat all the way to the cave.

            “Bane,” Temujin’s soft voice in his com. “Take the shot. From your angle, the bullet will pass through her and disarm Mutara. Do it now, before he backs further away and spoils your shot.”

            “What?” Bane breathed in disbelief.

            “Come out!” Mutara yelled. “Or I will shoot this girl!”

            “Do it, Bane, before he turns the gun on himself.”

            “But, Jin… Acayo…”

            “He will kill her anyway. Do it. Now.”

            Bane stared through his gunsights, sweat pouring down his face, stinging his eyes, trickling against the mask. To him, it seemed his breathing could be heard for miles around. Surely Mutara could hear him, yet the man’s attention remained in Temujin’s direction.

            “Bane,” Temujin hissed.

            Acayo’s pleading gaze traveled around her until she seemed to spy Bane, staring right down his scope, her scarred mouth just open. No, Bane told himself, she could not see him; the foliage was too dense. If only she would look away. He could not, however, wait for that; he could not fail. Internally he repeated this like a mantra. Beneath the mask, his own scarred lips pressed together in despair, and his finger squeezed the trigger.

            Acayo dropped, lifeless, her blood spattering Mutara. The African’s Glock, hit by the round exiting Acayo’s skull, flew away, swallowed by the dense vegetation on the far side of the trail. Clutching his bleeding hand, Mutara dove after the weapon.

            Propelled by rage, Bane exploded from his cover and charged the African. He leapt over Acayo’s body, crashed into the underbrush where Mutara frantically searched for the pistol. Just as his uninjured hand closed upon the mangled grip, Bane grabbed him by the shirt with a roar and threw him back out onto the path. A dark blur from the right—Temujin sprinting forward, rifle aimed at Mutara. The African ignored him, aimed the pistol instead at Bane, who was nearly upon him. But when he pulled the trigger, the damaged weapon failed to discharge. Bane snatched him up again, a powerful hand encircling his neck, lifting him off his feet. Mutara’s hate-filled eyes bulged, teeth bared, fists beating uselessly against his assailant, feet and knees attempting to find vulnerable spots. Bane ignored his struggles, squeezed tight enough to compromise Mutara’s breathing but not enough to kill him as he so desperately wanted.

            “Bane!” Temujin cried. “Enough! Stand down!”

            Bane’s fingers tightened just a bit more, eyes locked with Mutara’s, a tiny flicker of concern there now that Bane might tear him limb from limb regardless of Temujin’s orders. Then Bane flung him to the ground, fell upon him, driving out what remained of the air in his lungs, and pummeled his face into a bloody mess before Temujin’s hard grip on his shoulder and shouts in his ear brought the assault to an end. Unconscious but alive, Mutara lay sprawled across the path, close to Acayo. Bane regained his feet, swaying, chest heaving.

            “Bind his arms while I attend to his wound,” Temujin ordered, regaining his composure.

            With blood-smeared hands balled into fists at his sides, Bane lingered over Mutara, quelling his driving desire to shred the man into tiny pieces. His breath rattled against the mask. Finally, he shrugged out of his pack and located a pair of zip ties, which he then used to restrain their prisoner. All the while he refused to look at Temujin, who proceeded to clean and dress the hand wound.

            With Mutara secure, Bane went to Acayo, knelt beside her. He stared at her open eyes, devoid of light but somehow maintaining what he interpreted as shocked disbelief. Blood and gray matter stained the ground around her head. Her tattered headscarf lay amidst the gore. Insects buzzed about. He told himself that there was no way she had felt any pain, had never even known what was coming. Surely she had never expected _him_ to kill her. _She should have been afraid of me more than Mutara._

            After closing her eyes, he used his knife to slice away the lower part of her dress to wrap her head, to hide the hideous exit wound that had torn away so much of her skull. Since they had nothing with which to dig a grave, he would lay her to rest in the cave. Perhaps animals would be too wary of a place reeking of the scent of a dog like Mutara to molest her.

            Gently he took her in his arms and started along the path.

            “Bane,” Temujin called in an irritated voice, “where are you going?”

            “To the cave,” he growled. He half expected Temujin to try to stop him, but his SO said nothing more.

            The musical rush of the waterfall broke through his anger and sorrow as he drew closer to it. When the path opened up near the lower stream, a light mist from the narrow, thirty-meter falls greeted his sweated brow. The peaceful scene lay in sharp contrast to the violence left behind him. The small cave remained undetectable behind the curtain of water. To his left, the rock face gleamed. Its cragginess provided natural stairs, albeit narrow, slippery ones, tricky for a man of his size. Climbing would be difficult enough without carrying Acayo’s body, but Bane was undaunted.

            With slow, carefully placed steps, he made his way upward, the proximity of the falls coating him and Acayo with moisture. His breath came hard, echoing inside the mask, the reek of blood filling his nose.

            At last he reached the small platform of stone, and only then could he see the cave. The opening was less than two meters in height and a little broader than one meter, the backside of the falls easily touched if he held out his hand. To pass through with Acayo, he had to stoop and drape her body over his shoulder. Once inside, his vision adjusted to the dimness, well-accustomed to such scant light from his years in the pit prison.

            The space accommodated several stainless steel footlockers, which undoubtedly held the supplies Acayo had told them would be there. A blanket lay wadded on the floor, as if tossed there in haste. Bane lay Acayo upon the floor, then pushed two of the largest lockers together. He spread the blanket across them before placing her body upon it. Reaching to cover her, he faltered, sank to one knee, his forearm resting on the edge of the clammy locker. He stared at the blood-soaked cloth that swathed her head, thought of the scars upon her youthful face.

            “Forgive me, Acayo,” his quiet voice rang hollow in the cave, as hollow as he felt. “And know this—Mutara will pay for what he did to you, to all of them. Justice will be served, and I will see to it that your family and the families of his victims know of your sacrifice and your bravery.”

            Getting to his feet, his back aching, Bane folded Acayo’s arms across her body. Briefly he rested his hand upon hers, the chill of her flesh reminding him of the day his mother had died in the pit.

            “I will find the woman who betrayed you, Acayo, and I will kill her.” Slowly, reluctantly, he drew the blanket over the girl. “This I promise you.”


	12. Chapter 12

            With Acayo’s blood staining his clothes, Bane emerged from the cave and descended the side of the waterfall’s facing. Nearby, Temujin talked on a satellite phone, giving their coordinates. This signified to Bane an extraction instead of a return trek through the forest. Feeling his exhaustion fully now that this was near an end, Bane hoped the helicopter would arrive quickly.

            Gagged and sullen, Joseph Mutara sat not far from where Temujin stood. He glowered at his captors, a light of defiance still gleaming in his eyes. A man who would never admit defeat. Bane marched toward him without hesitation.

            Temujin cursed and called, “Bane,” as a deterrent that had no hope of succeeding.

            In one smooth motion, Bane drew his knife and buried it to the hilt in Mutara’s thigh. The man screamed against the gag. Bane twisted the blade.

            “Tell me the name of the woman who brought Acayo to you.”

            Bane reached for the gag, turned the blade again before Temujin’s arm snaked around his neck and jerked him backward. Though Bane struggled to break his SO’s grip, he failed, bent backward by the smaller man, his damaged spine protesting the position. Pain shot through his leg muscles as he strained to remain on his feet.

            “Damn it, Bane—”

            “He has information we can use,” Bane choked out.

            “That type of information is irrelevant to our mission. You will not maim him any further, do you hear?”

            “Irrelevant to you perhaps.” Bane reached behind him, sought a hold in order to flip Temujin over his head, but the Mongol evaded his attempt and kicked the back of Bane’s knee, collapsing his leg.

            “Shall I pin you as I used to do in the dojo when you were a worthless student?” Temujin threatened. “Or will you obey my orders, as a soldier would, and stand down once and for all?”

            Bane stared at Mutara, who squirmed against the pain of the impaling knife, hatred tightening the muscles of his lean face. The man’s fury worked upon Bane’s better sense, reminding him that he could not allow himself to sink to Mutara’s level. He was, after all, a member of the League of Shadows, not some lowlife mercenary like Diako. How could he forget his training so easily? Perhaps Temujin was right and he _had_ lost his objectivity.

            He relaxed and surrendered to Temujin’s hold. The Mongol waited, then, satisfied, released him.

            “Retrieve your knife and dress his wound.”

            “Jin,” he said, forcing calm. “I can get the truth out of him. Let me try. I won’t kill him.”

            “Damn right you won’t. Our job is to deliver him…in good health, so he can stand trial. We will leave the interrogation to the Rwandans.”

            “The Rwandans won’t care about Mutara’s trafficking; they have their own agenda.”

            “To what end would you ask your questions, Bane? Your task is not to investigate what Mutara has done. Again, that is the job of the Rwandans. Whether or not they are interested in Mutara’s human trafficking is none of your concern.”

            “None of my concern? I just had to kill a child because of him.”

            “And it will not be the last one, not while you are in our line of work.”

            “Is that why you ordered me to kill her—this test of yours, of _his_?” He restrained himself from using Rā’s al Ghūl’s name in front of their captive.

            “My order had nothing to do with that. The order was to achieve our objective. And it worked, no matter how onerous the method may have been to you and I. Don’t make the mistake of thinking such an order was easily given. You know me better than that. And if you think torturing Mutara will give you some sort of relief, you are mistaken. Evil begets evil, if we allow it to. I have trained you better than that.” He regarded him coldly. “At least I thought so.” Temujin shouldered his rifle. “After you dress Mutara’s wound, you will help him to the cave. We will wait there. I just spoke with Zakuani. He has gained access to a helicopter and will be here as quickly as he can. For now, we will remain hidden and vigilant, just in case our bloodied friend here has any allies looking for him.”

            “Then we won’t have to leave Acayo’s body here.”

            Temujin sighed, and his irritation drifted away. “Yes, she will get the burial she deserves. There is at least that consolation.”

            The only consolation, Bane thought as he turned back to Mutara. He bent to recover his knife, but before he removed it, he glowered at the African and twisted the blade one last time.

#

            The journey back to her home seemed endless to Talia as she slept fitfully in her father’s arms, awakened often by bouts of coughing. Sometimes Passat carried her in order to relieve her father of his burden, but usually when she awoke, it was her father’s powerful arms around her. He would look down at her, speak soft, soothing words and assure her that soon she would be home in a warm bed, covered by her mother’s blanket and cared for closely by Choden, who served as physician and healer to all at the monastery. Talia easily remembered how diligent and compassionate Choden had been with Bane during his recovery from his wounds suffered prior to his rescue from prison. Her ailment was nothing in comparison.

            “I fear you have pneumonia,” her father had said before they struck out from the cave. “We must treat you with antibiotics before it worsens.”

            Weakly she said, “It’s a good thing, then, that Akar helped Passat find me.”

            Her attempt at redeeming Akar to her father drew a slight frown from him, but nothing more, no relenting of the young man’s sentence.

            During the long, dreary hours of their march northward through the valleys, Talia had no opportunity to speak with Akar. He trudged behind them, head down, silent, resigned to his fate.

            “Papa,” she said in a voice purposefully hoarse and quiet, hoping to wear on his sympathy now that he had had time to cool off. “Please don’t banish Akar.”

            Her father only glanced at her once before turning his attention forward again, careful of where he stepped on the rocky, unforgiving ground. A light drizzle had begun to fall, and he gently tugged the hood of her parka tighter around her face.

            “Do not waste your strength on another pointless discussion, child.”

            “Please, Papa,” she whimpered. “Please…”

            But her ploy for benevolence fell flat. Her father set his face like the stony mountains rising above them on all sides. Even conjuring tears proved worthless, and she drifted back to fevered sleep, the tears blending with the misty rain on her cheeks.

            Sometime later she awoke when she no longer sensed movement. She opened her eyes to a slate gray sky. The rain had fled. Though daylight was fading, she recognized her surroundings. They stood atop a windswept ridge, and down below, a tiny, bleak village of ramshackle shelters nearly blended into the unforgiving, rocky slopes at the base of a snow-capped mountain. Drolma’s village. The only settlement for kilometers around, the closest to the monastery. She had gone there many times, and Drolma—the village elder—favored her. She enjoyed listening to his stories about his life, spent entirely here in the mountains. His wizened little wife was always so kind to her, expressing maternal concerns for Talia being motherless. The settlement benefited from Rā’s al Ghūl’s generosity with provisions, especially during the brutal winter months, as well as medical care. In return for such favors, the villagers spoke to no outsiders about the mysterious men who lived just one mountain over.

            With Drolma’s village in sight, Talia knew she would soon be home at last. Yet this realization gave her little joy, for it also meant she would have to say good-bye to Akar. Of course, if he ended up staying in the settlement, she could still see him now and then…if her father allowed her to visit. But Talia was unsure if she could ever look Akar in the eyes after the ruin she had brought upon him.

            “Akar,” her father spoke sternly, turning about to face the young man.

            Forlorn, Akar stared at the village, his expression set. He appeared to require great effort to turn toward his master. “Yes, sir.”

            “Are you prepared to accept your exile?”

            The young man bowed his dark head. “Yes, sir.”

            “And you fully understand why I have made this decision?”

            “I do, sir.”

            Anger stirred in Talia. She thought it cruel of her father to make Akar admit his mistakes yet again, in front of all of them. Why not just let him go? Why shame him even more? Or was it to shame _her_?

            “You are a servant of the League, Akar, yet you chose to serve your own desires instead of your brethren.”

            “And for that I am sorry, sir.” Still Akar kept his head bowed in humility.

            “Papa,” Talia whispered, her throat tight with emotion. “Please…”

            Her father’s gaze chilled her even more than the damp weather. “There is much you can learn from Akar, Talia. He has made no excuses, no emotional pleas or outbursts. He is humble and accepting, submissive. Until your influence upon him, he had never disobeyed or defied me. He has been grateful for all that the League has done for him, and he has always shown his appreciation by his untiring service.”

            Though Talia knew all of this, having her father verbalize it made her fully acknowledge Akar’s strength of character, his admirable traits. She knew his life among the men of the League was not easy; though his brothers were not cruel to him, Akar’s physical handicaps were glaringly apparent around the healthy, powerful warriors, and this often damaged his spirit. Only through Bane’s support and encouragement did Akar recover from his moments of self-doubt.

            “You think,” her father continued, “that everything to be learned is found only in the dojo or in Sangye’s books. You fail to learn by observing the moral virtues of others. The virtuous have as much to offer as the fighter. They are not mutually exclusive. Akar excels in the virtues. He is an example to you.” His unrelenting stare finally caused her to look away in shame. Sighing, he turned back to Akar, who shifted from foot to foot, red-faced either from the wind or from his master’s complimentary words. “And that is why I have decided to give Akar a choice.”

            “Sir?” Akar managed to strangle out, a flicker of desperate hope sparking in his single eye, making Talia’s heart flutter with surprised anticipation.

            “You may choose either to accept exile to Drolma’s village or you may return with us under one condition: that should you ever again meddle in affairs beyond your duties as servant, you will face nothing short of death.”

            Talia stifled a small gasp, bit her lip to keep from speaking. Though her father’s stipulation appalled her, she knew now was not the time to voice such disagreement. To even breathe might encourage him to rescind his offer of clemency.

            Akar dropped to one knee before his master, head bowed again. “I wish to return with you. I give you my word—I will never again act so foolishly and dishonorably.”

            Talia’s father regarded Akar with begrudging, almost haughty satisfaction. He nodded once. “Very well. But remember what you are agreeing to, Akar.”

            “I will, sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

            “You will maintain your example of obedience and duty for my wayward daughter. Perhaps over time she will acquire those same virtues.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            “Then let us make haste. With luck, we will arrive home before dark.”

            As her father turned away from Akar, the young man raised his head in time for Talia to meet his eye. She offered a small, relieved smile, which drew a similar response from Akar.

            “Thank you, Papa,” she said.

            “Your foolishness has cost you your health, daughter. Make sure it does not cost Akar his life.”

            Her father kept his frigid stare forward, and she knew without a sliver of doubt that he would indeed kill Akar if the young man dared displease him again. With a shiver, Talia closed her eyes, no longer able to look at her father, wishing more than ever for Bane to return home.

#

            Bane and Temujin waited several uneventful hours at the cave. When the helicopter arrived, the pilot hovered above the small clearing just downstream from the cave. Zakuani tossed a line to Bane, who climbed effortlessly to the Eurocopter. In turn, he pulled up Mutara then Temujin, who held Acayo’s body.

            On the ensuing flight to Ikela, Bane said nothing. Instead he watched the dense forest below him pass by, kilometer after kilometer of beautiful green. He ignored Mutara’s bandaged form seated across from him. Though their mission would not be complete until Mutara was delivered into the hands of the Rwandans, Bane felt detached from whatever came next.

            At the Ikela airport, Bane was surprised when Temujin instructed him to transfer Acayo’s body to the League jet, which awaited them, fueled and ready to take off as soon as they boarded. He expected Zakuani to bid them farewell and find his own way back to Kolwezi, but Temujin ordered him aboard as well. Bane had no desire to ask questions.

            Once they reached cruising altitude, Temujin gestured for Bane to leave his seat at the back of the plane near a restrained, sedated Mutara to sit with him and Zakuani. Reluctantly Bane obeyed.

            “We will touch down at Kisoro Airport in Uganda before continuing to Rwanda,” Temujin began, stirring Bane’s interest. “Zakuani, you will escort Acayo’s body to her village. Bane will share what he knows of Acayo and her background to assist you in carrying out my orders.”

            “I can go in his stead,” Bane said. “Zakuani can accompany you to Rwanda.”

            “My orders are not open to negotiation, Bane. This jet is bound for Kigali where we will deliver our package, then return to base. Our mission will have been concluded.”

            Bane forced himself to remain calm. “You’ve been compassionate in the decision to return Acayo to her home—”

            “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m doing this for your sake, brother. I am simply honoring Acayo for her sacrifice. This is why I’ve chosen Zakuani to deliver her. That and the fact that if I turned you loose in Uganda, no doubt you would torch the whole country looking for her betrayer.”

            Though he wanted to argue his point, Bane refused to lie, and refuting Temujin’s position would be exactly that.

            “As you said, Jin, our mission is nearly over,” Bane rumbled. “Once Mutara is delivered, I could return to Uganda while you return to base. I’m confident I could locate Acayo’s betrayer. I could stop the continuation of kidnapping, of supplying other Mutaras. Justice would be served. And isn’t that the purpose of the League?”

            “Such a mission for you would not be serving justice, Bane; it would be serving revenge. You think me a fool?”

            “So what that woman is doing to children like Acayo and the ones we rescued is not our concern?” Bane allowed a hint of sharpness.

            “It is not our concern _today_. I cannot authorize such a mission. You know that, yet you still lobby for it.”

            “Because I’m the one who killed her, Jin,” he growled. “Not you.”

            Zakuani studied him with surprise, for he had yet to hear the details of Mutara’s capture.

            “If I had been the one to fire that shot,” Temujin said, “my view today would be no different.” He leaned forward over the small table that separated them. “When we return to base, you may petition Rā’s for such a mission, but for now the matter is concluded. Do you understand?”

            Bane simmered. “I understand.”

#

            Bane spent the rest of the short flight to Kisoro briefing Zakuani on Acayo’s death and all she had shared with him about her family, her village, and the woman who was responsible for her abduction. Zakuani listened with deep interest and empathy. No doubt his relationship with Belvie had heightened his desire to help Africa’s victimized female population. As Zakuani asked questions, Bane felt more at ease with Temujin’s decision to send the African. After all, Acayo’s people would not fear one of their own bringing such tragic news compared to an imposing, masked white man appearing in their midst with one of their dead children.

            “Thank you for this service,” Bane said, shaking Zakuani’s hand later on the tarmac at Kisoro.

            “It is an honor,” Zakuani replied. “Have no fear, brother; I will make sure her people understand and appreciate what she has done.”

            “I know you will.” Bane nodded farewell then turned back to the jet, brushing past Temujin.

            Once they were in the air, flying south on the brief leg to Kigali, Temujin changed seats so he faced Bane, who stared out the window into the black night.

            “Now that we are alone,” Temujin began, “except for our slumbering murderer, that is, it is time we talk.”

            Without turning from the window, Bane grumbled, “We have already talked.”

            “Yes, as soldiers. But now we will speak as friends.”

            Begrudgingly Bane considered him, fingers twitching in his lap.

            Temujin leaned forward, forearms resting upon his thighs, hands clasped. “I cannot tell if your silence signifies anger at me or sorrow over Acayo.”

            “It is neither.”

            “I don’t believe you.”

            “I am angry with myself.”

            Temujin’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why?”

            “Because I should have listened to you from the beginning. You warned me not to think of Talia while on this mission, especially considering the children involved. And you told me not to become emotionally involved with Acayo. But I did both of those things.”

            “I expected nothing less from you, truth be told. It was inevitable. The important thing is that you’ve learned from the experience. That is a part of your continued training. Being angry at yourself will serve no purpose. You have acknowledged your mistakes; that is crucial to not repeating them.”

            “I have seen little but darkness in my life, Jin. Children, like Talia, like Acayo, provide a light in that darkness. To be responsible for snuffing out such light…” He shook his head. “It will tear the soul out of a man. But, as you said, I will be called on to do such things again, and so I must accept the odious task.” He paused, studied his friend’s attentive face. “Have you killed a child before, Jin?”

            Frowning, Jin slowly nodded, his gaze momentarily dropping away. “Yes. As with you, it occurred on one of my first missions after being initiated. The child, a boy, was being used as a human shield, similar to Acayo with Mutara today.” He looked back to Bane. “So believe me when I reiterate that it was not easy to give you that order. I knew what it would do to you…and to me.”

            Bane had not considered Temujin’s possible feelings toward Acayo. True, he had spent more time interacting with Acayo than Temujin, but obviously the Mongol had silently appreciated the girl’s personality. Knowing now that his friend also grieved for Acayo eased some of his own sorrow.

            “But you will learn to bear such things,” Temujin assured. “In time, you will not think twice about it. It is an unfortunate but necessary aspect of who we are, Bane. We must forfeit some of our humanity for our cause.”

            Bane tried to relax back in his chair. “A part of me fears seeing Talia after this.”

            “Why?”

            “She will sense my unrest and want to know the details of our mission.”

            “You must not be afraid to tell her. She, too, can learn from what you have learned.”

            “But if I tell her what I have done—killing a child, a girl, not much older than she—she may be troubled by my actions. She knows I have killed men, but—”

            “You cannot shelter her from reality, Bane. Like us, she will eventually be sent on missions. It is her heritage.”

            Bane thought of Rā’s al Ghūl’s plans to wed Talia to Bruce Wayne, a plan that Rā’s had shared thus far only with Bane and had acquired Bane’s promise to keep it from anyone else, including Temujin and Talia. Yes, there would be missions for Talia, but Bane knew they would be of a different nature from his, not ones of guns and bullets but instead seduction and deception. How he wished he could speak to Temujin of this horrifying prospect and seek his counsel.

            “When you return home,” Temujin continued, “you must allow yourself to share your experiences in the field with Talia. She can heal your spirit. I’ve seen it time and time again. She centers you like nothing else can.” He, too, rested back in his leather chair, relaxed. “Honor Acayo, but let her go. And forgive yourself. Think of those her sacrifice—and yours—has saved from the same fate she endured.”

            “You are right, of course, Jin.” Bane nodded. “Thank you.”

            The jet began a gradual descent, and Temujin glanced at his watch. They had been in the air mere minutes.

            “We will be landing shortly. Let our friend continue to sleep.” Temujin nodded toward Mutara and grinned. “After we hand him over to the Rwandans, I doubt he will have the luxury of peaceful sleep ever again.”


	13. Chapter 13

            The trek through the wet, gray valleys and the climb up the treacherous slopes of the mountain left Bane exhausted and impatient to be home at last. So when he caught sight of the monastery, he breathed a frosty sigh of relief through the mask and paused to gaze upon his home.

            The wooden structure had been built into the leeward side of a mountain, its color blending with that of the rock facing, making it difficult to distinguish from a distance. The complex, when it had truly been a monastery, had consisted only of a couple of buildings, but once the League acquired it, additional, connected buildings were added, giving it a cobbled yet fascinating appearance. A true marvel in engineering, its architectural style in keeping with Bhutan’s culture. The symbolism of living high upon this mountain after being born in the depths of the earth had always pleased Bane, and the very sight of the monastery filled him with pride.

            Once inside the anteroom, Bane and Temujin shook the snow from their boots and removed their packs and heavy parkas. Light from dozens of candles made the visual transition from the mountain’s brightness to the monastery’s muted interior a soothing, gradual one.

            “I will take your coats.” Akar’s voice pulled Bane’s attention to the threshold leading into the Great Hall. “And I will clean your boots before I return them to your rooms.”

            Bane smiled. “Hello, Akar.”

            Surprisingly, the young man did not return his smile. In fact, he avoided Bane’s gaze altogether. “Welcome back.”

            “How are you, my boy?” Temujin also smiled.

            Akar reached for Temujin’s parka. “I am well, thank you.”

            Temujin exchanged a curious glance with Bane. “It would seem otherwise. What is wrong?”

            Akar retrieved Bane’s coat as well, hugging the two items to his chest like a shield. Still his eyes remained downward. “Talia has pneumonia,” he murmured.

            Alarm stiffened Bane’s spine. “Pneumonia?” Quickly he picked up his pack and stepped toward the Great Hall, Akar turning to the side to allow him room.

            “Bane,” Temujin’s voice restrained him. “You will report with me to Rā’s before you see Talia.”

            “I won’t be long, Jin. I promise.”

            “Bane. This isn’t a choice.”

            Clenching his jaw, Bane stood his ground, waited for Temujin to step from the anteroom.

            “Do you know where Rā’s is, Akar?” the Mongol asked.

            “He is in his office.” Akar bent to gather their boots, for a moment distracting Bane. Something more than Talia’s illness was affecting the young man. Akar’s behavior was completely out of character for such an occasion; normally he was overly talkative upon Bane’s return to base and wanted to know if the mission had been successful. Well, Bane thought, Akar would have to wait, as would Talia. Soon, though, he would have his answers.

            Bane followed Temujin through the complex, returning the nods of greeting from his brothers whom they passed. He hoped they were pleased to see that he and Temujin had survived their mission. Then he wondered if Talia knew yet of his return. The base always had men watching the valley for anyone approaching; that would have been how Akar knew to appear in the anteroom to meet any needs they may have. Bane’s fingers twitched with impatience to see Talia. Surely she would wonder why he did not immediately visit her. He hoped she realized his delay was not by choice.

            Once in the dormitory, the first scents of supper teased Bane’s hollow stomach. He and Temujin climbed the stairs to the upper level where they dropped their packs in Bane’s bedroom. Then they headed across the atrium.

            Bane forgot the inviting waft of cooking as his attention shot to the closed door of Talia’s chamber. Just then Choden emerged. The small Tibetan held a bowl and a damp cloth in one hand as he gently shut the door behind him. When he saw Bane, his smile was tight, and he gave a slight bow. To reach the stairs, Choden had to come toward them. They met just outside Rā’s’ room.

            “How is she?” Bane quietly asked the attendant.

            “She is medicated and resting.”

            “Bane,” Temujin drew his attention back as he knocked on Rā’s’ door.

            “Come in,” their commander called.

            Choden offered Bane a reassuring touch on the arm and a nod before he went on his way.

            Inside Rā’s’ room, soothing heat greeted them from the large fireplace, along with the pleasant scent of wood smoke. Dressed in dark clothing, Rā’s sat in a worn upholstered chair, the only true creature comfort in the living space. In his hands he held a book, which he set on a nearby end table when they entered. He climbed to his tall height.

            “Welcome back, gentlemen,” Rā’s said with a smile that carried nothing more than a touch of warmth. “When I heard of your approach, I had Akar bring up a fresh pot of tea. It should be ready by now.” He gestured to two wooden chairs in front of his expansive desk where the teapot sat. The soft soles of Rā’s’ shoes made little sound as he circled the desk and settled into the leather chair behind it.

            “Thank you for this,” Temujin said as he poured a cup for himself and his master. He gave Bane an apologetic glance. Bane, however, had little desire for tea or anything else except seeing Talia.

            Rā’s drew his cup and saucer closer. “Please make your report, gentlemen.”

            Bane sat in dutiful silence during Temujin’s narrative, hiding the tension he felt. Prior to this, he had not asked his SO if his contrary behavior during the mission would be relayed to Rā’s al Ghūl. He fully expected it to be; after all, Temujin had an obligation to report all that had occurred, particularly considering that Bane was still new to field duty. Or perhaps Temujin would wait until he was dismissed before discussing such things with their commander.

            To his relief, Temujin stuck strictly to the basic actions and facts of the operation. Rā’s listened without interruption, sipping his tea and occasionally nodding, expression unreadable. Bane fought to stay focused, not to think about his ill _habibati_ on the other side of the wall to his right. His attention, however, sharpened when Temujin reached the point in his narration about ordering Acayo killed. Rā’s had not looked at him once during Temujin’s report, but now his eyebrows raised slightly, and his stare fell upon Bane for a brief moment. Bane felt no pride, as he would have under normal circumstances. In fact, he wanted to look away in shame but managed to hold his master’s gaze for that instant. Seeing surprise in Rā’s’ eyes, Bane painfully realized Talia’s father had indeed expected him to fail such a test.

            “Bane performed admirably,” Temujin said. “As you can imagine, the task was a difficult one.”

            “It was not difficult,” Bane said. “It was necessary.” This time he held Rā’s’ eye with a touch of defiance. How dare the man doubt him? Before his initiation, had his master not said that he was the League’s most remarkable student to date?

            “What of the man who jeopardized the op?” Rā’s asked. “Diako.”

            “Once he guided Zakuani and the children to the location where they could be airlifted,” Temujin said, “Zakuani eliminated him.”

            “Very good. I will speak to Zakuani about his poor choice of guides.”

            “He regrets what happened,” Temujin assured. “He has used the man before without incident.”

            Rā’s merely grunted and drank from his cup again.

            Taking advantage of his master’s inability to speak while drinking, Bane said, “Sir, if you please, I have a request.” He plunged on before Rā’s could swallow. “Acayo shared intelligence with us about a woman in Uganda who was responsible for her kidnapping, a woman who worked with Mutara. No doubt she was also responsible for the abduction of the children we rescued.”

            “An assumption,” Rā’s said. “Or did Mutara share that information with Acayo?”

            Bane glanced at Temujin’s cautioning expression. “No, sir. He did not. But either way, we know for a fact that this woman was responsible for the kidnapping of Acayo and the other schoolchildren. I would like your permission to find her and bring her to justice.”

            Rā’s set his teacup on the saucer, licked his lips, considered Bane. “I do not sanction missions for personal revenge, Bane.”

            “It is not for revenge, sir. It is to stop this woman from committing further crimes and assisting others in doing the same. It is for justice.”

            “Justice for Acayo?”

            Bane hesitated. “For her, yes. And for the others this woman has affected, before and after Acayo. You don’t think it a worthy cause?”

            “Worthy? Oh, yes, indeed. But worthy of the League…I am not so certain.”

            “It wouldn’t require much in resources,” Bane insisted. “I can locate her myself. I believe I have enough information to do so.”

            “You forget that you are still under Temujin’s supervision. If I sanctioned such a mission, it would require Temujin’s services as well, services that would deprive the League of one of its best lieutenants.”

            “I don’t believe it would be a lengthy mission, sir,” Bane said.

            “You have no way of knowing that,” Rā’s countered.

            “I am confident—”

            “Confidence is not enough.” Rā’s stood. “And I notice Temujin is not jumping in to support your request.”

            “I would support it,” Temujin clarified. “However, I understand your reservations, sir.”

            Gripping the lapels of his tunic, Rā’s moved slowly around the desk, thoughtful. He stopped to stare at the fire for a long moment. Bane exchanged a look with Temujin, who mouthed, “Patience.”

            At last Rā’s turned back, stepped closer but did not return to his chair. He crossed his arms, regarded his operatives. “You have both performed well and accomplished your mission. To show my gratitude I will allow Acayo’s information to be passed on to Ugandan authorities so they may investigate and apprehend this woman. I will also ensure our Rwandan friends extract as much information about her as Mutara can provide to assist the Ugandans in their efforts.”

            “Sir,” Bane quickly said, “the Ugandans won’t be as motivated or as competent as—”

            “It will have to be enough,” Rā’s replied with finality.

            “But, sir, if I may—”

            “You’ve heard my decision, Bane. That is the end of the matter.”

            Before Bane could protest further, Temujin’s hand gripped his left arm. “Thank you, sir,” the Mongol said. “We appreciate your involvement. Don’t we, Bane?”

            Bane did his best to hide his frustration by staring at the opaque windows behind the desk. “Yes,” he gritted out.

            “Very well,” Rā’s said. “Compile your intelligence, Bane, and I will make the necessary contacts.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Temujin, you are dismissed. Bane, I would like you to remain.”

            “Sir, what of Talia?” Bane said as Temujin stood. “Akar says she has pneumonia.”

            “Indeed she does. After you left, I had a small rebellion on my hands. My daughter was upset with my parenting methods and decided she would punish me by running away. During her brief hiatus, she fell ill.”

            Concealing his surprise over Talia’s behavior, Bane asked, “How is she now?” noting how Temujin lingered to hear their exchange.

            “She has only been back about twelve hours. She has been treated with antibiotics. Choden said the illness is not too advanced, so she should respond quickly to treatment.”

            Temujin asked, “May I visit her?”

            “I just left her before you arrived. She is sleeping now. Later you may see her. But I don’t want to indulge her too much; as you can imagine, I am quite displeased with her.”

            With a tight smile, Temujin bowed. Before turning for the door, he tossed one last cautionary glance Bane’s way.

            “I’m surprised at Talia’s behavior,” Bane said, though not completely believing his own words. After all, he was keenly aware of Talia’s burgeoning teenage rebelliousness.

            “Do you know where she went, Bane?”

            “No, sir. Of course not.”

            “My men and I searched for her and found her in a cave several hours south of here.”

            Bane’s stomach clenched, and he swallowed in a dry throat, for he could see that Rā’s had learned the purpose of the cave. Now was the time for full disclosure in the hopes of making things easier on Talia, taking some of the blame from her. “I believe I know the location of which you speak.”

            “Indeed you do…since it was you who discovered the cave and supplied it.” Rā’s pushed Temujin’s chair out of the way so he was closer to Bane, then he leaned back against the edge of the desk, arms still crossed. “An undertaking of which you failed to inform me… _me_ —Talia’s father and your master. Talia told me the sanctuary, of course, _is_ for her.”

            “Yes, sir. In case this base was ever breached by an enemy. I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

            “You didn’t tell me because you still don’t trust me to safeguard my own daughter. Do you?”

            Bane frowned and sighed. “My intention was not to impugn—”

            “Are there any other contingencies I should be aware of?” Rā’s’ acerbic voice had become as cold as the windows before Bane.

            “No, sir.”

            “You provided my daughter with a way to defy me…and a way to alarm me. Let me ask you something, Bane. When you were her guardian in prison, what would you have felt if she had vanished and hid herself where you could not find her?”

            “Of course I would have been frantic.”

            “And what would you have done to the one who provided her with such a place of concealment?”

            Bane’s fingers twitched, his jaw tightened. “I would have punished him severely.”

            “Indeed. Then you will understand how I feel right now about this whole incident.”

            “Again, I am sorry, sir. My intent was not to cause harm but to help Talia if danger arose here. I never imagined that she would use the cave as a means of manipulating anyone.”

            “Nor would have I. But, as we are both learning, Talia is becoming more and more intractable. We must keep this in mind whenever we feel that we can trust her to do what she needs to do. What happened recently can never happen again.”

            “May I ask what triggered her disobedience?”

            “You, of course.”

            “Me? But I was away, sir.”

            “Yes, and because I’m the one who dared send you from her so soon after your previous mission, she felt aggrieved. She manipulated Akar into accompanying her. That boy has never had a disobedient bone in his body until Talia came here.”

            Bane had a distinct feeling Rā’s wanted to add, “Until _you_ came here,” but he refrained.

            “I’ve been away on other missions,” Bane said. “You never spoke of any protests on her part then.”

            “No, she was wise enough to restrain any objections she may have had. This time the difference apparently was how soon you returned to the field after your last mission. Whatever her reasons, they are unacceptable.”

            “Of course. I will speak with her about this.”

            “That is not necessary. I have made my expectations and my punishment clear. I am confident her behavior will not be repeated.”

            “All the same, sir, I will speak to her. After all, I feel culpable in this because of the cave.”

            Rā’s studied him for an uncomfortable moment before moving around his desk and reclaiming his chair, his place of authority. For a fleeting instant, his attention rested upon a framed photograph that faced away from Bane—a photograph of Melisande, taken shortly after they had been married. Talia had shown the treasured memento to Bane shortly after their arrival here following their liberation from prison. Since then, Bane never dared look upon Melisande’s beautiful likeness when in Rā’s’ presence, for he sensed the man’s resentment and jealousy. But, oh, how he longed to do so, especially at a moment like this!

            “The night before Talia ran away,” Rā’s said, “I spoke with her at length. She had done poorly on Sangye’s latest exam.”

            Bane frowned. “That is very unusual.”

            “I thought the same, of course. It was that discussion, of how her failure at her studies was a direct result of her being upset and distracted by your absence, that led to the argument that caused her to flee. I explained to her once again how she must allow you to fulfill your duty and obligation to the League…and how she must fulfill hers. Which brings us to the reason why I have detained you here now, without Temujin.”

            “Sir?”

            Rā’s leaned forward, lacing his fingers together atop the desk. “Even before Talia’s latest defiance, I told her that now that she is maturing in years, she must put her childhood and childish ways behind her. She must let go of those things which she no longer needs to cling to from her past.”

            Anger stirred in Bane as he quickly understood what Rā’s was truly saying and where he was going with this discussion.

            “I told her that when you returned, Bane, I would have a similar discussion with you. And so here we are.”

            Bane did his best to remain calm. “Sir, surely you aren’t asking me to forsake Talia.”

            “No, of course not. I’m merely saying that the two of you will benefit in the way of personal growth if you begin to transition away from your personal attachment. Your love of my daughter and hers for you is understandable, but now that you are an initiated member of the League and she heir to the Demon, your focus needs to shift more and more to your future instead of your past. That attachment has now negatively affected her studies as well as her obedience. I think you will agree with me that those two things can never be a choice on her part. Removing distractions from her—and you—will benefit all. You understand, of course.”

            Yes, he understood all too well—Rā’s was purposefully gutting him, putting him in his place, leaving nothing open to interpretation. A hard, cold life sentence.

            “Surely,” Rā’s continued, one side of his mustache twitching slightly upward, “I don’t need to remind you of the oath you took on the day of your initiation.”

            “No, sir,” Bane said near a growl, wanting to remind Rā’s in turn of the oath made to Melisande back in prison, one that no other pledge could supersede. But he would have to keep that to himself. He would play this part demanded of him, but never would he abandon Talia in any way. Yet some level of compliance had to be achieved for her sake, if not his own. After all, Rā’s could permanently order him away from the monastery, from Talia, if the man was pushed too hard. As difficult as it was to swallow, he had to allow Rā’s to believe that he would gradually remove himself from Talia’s daily life.

            “Then you will honor my directive?” Rā’s pressed, though it truly was not a question.

            “As you just pointed out, sir, I am sworn to obedience in all things.”

            Victory brightened Rā’s’ gray eyes. “Indeed. I hope you can impart some of that obedience upon my stubborn daughter.”

            “I will do my best, sir. May I see her after she awakes?”

            “You may. After supper.” Rā’s got to his feet, came around the desk, an arm outstretched toward the door. Warmth had returned to his visage, the warmth of perceived dominance. “I’m sure seeing you will help her on her way to recovery.”

            Bane stood. “I hope so, sir.” He bowed slightly but could not return his master’s goodwill. After all, there was only so much acting he could do. His spirit allowed nothing more. Turning on his heels, he left the room.


	14. Chapter 14

            The first meal after returning home from a mission was always a pleasant one for Bane. Jamyang’s cooking tasted even better than on most days, and he enjoyed more than usual the conversation and banter between his brothers at table. Another positive aspect of this particular meal was that Damien Chase, the League’s second-in-command, was not present, off on a mission in the Middle East. Bane had never liked Chase and his arrogant ways, nor did he appreciate the attention the American paid to Talia. He had always suspected Chase’s indulgence of Talia had more to do with pleasing Rā’s al Ghūl than any true affection for Talia.

            One dark cloud, however, hovered over this evening’s meal—Akar. As always, the boy moved efficiently about, serving the men and fetching anything they required, keeping cups filled and food hot. But he avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Bane’s, coming near him only when absolutely necessary. Bane could imagine how Rā’s had dealt with Akar when he found the boy in that cave with Talia. The misdeed of accompanying her on her ill-fated flight was crime enough, but the impropriety of an older boy—one who had an enormous crush on Talia—being alone with her in such a remote place was even worse. A foolish worry on Rā’s’ part, Bane knew, for Akar would never even consider dishonoring Talia with any physical overtures. It had taken the boy months to simply meet Talia’s gaze when she had first come to the monastery to live.

            Bane ate slowly on purpose to be the last man at the large table, an unusual practice because his sustaining morphine injection limited his time without the mask. He watched from the corners of his eyes while Akar cleared away the place settings after each man left the table. Those dishes closest to Bane, however, he neglected for as long as possible, saying nothing as he worked, head down. Then the young man lingered an unusual amount of time in the kitchen before he returned for the rest of the dishes. By then, the men who had lingered in the common room in conversation had headed upstairs to their rooms. When Akar saw that Bane remained, surprise registered on his face, and he hesitated in the doorway before resuming his duties.

            Once close to Bane to clear Temujin’s setting, Akar moved quickly. When Bane spoke, the boy jumped and nearly dropped a plate.

            “Sit down for a minute, Akar.”

            “I don’t have time. I must finish clearing the table and start on the washing.”

            “I won’t keep you long. Sit.”

            “Jamyang will be angry if I—”

            “I will deal with Jamyang, if need be. Now sit, boy.”

            Bane’s strong tone made disobedience impossible. With a frustrated sigh, Akar sat on the bench just down from Bane, glancing toward the kitchen.

            “Rā’s told me what happened while I was gone.”

            Akar’s shoulders rounded. “I dishonored him. I deeply regret it. But I did try to stop Talia from leaving. Please believe me.”

            “I do. Of course I do. I know you, Akar.” Now that he had convinced the young man to sit, Bane’s demeanor softened. “Tell me what happened.”

            Akar hesitated.

            “You are not betraying her by telling me the truth, Akar. And I expect nothing less from you than the truth. I know all of this was Talia’s doing, so don’t fear that I hold you responsible. I love Talia, but I’m well aware of her ability to manipulate. I’m going to talk to her about all of this, but before I do, I want to hear what you have to say. That’s all I’m asking for.”

            These words brought color back to Akar’s strained face, and tension left the boy’s body. He sighed again, this time with relief.

            “She tried to sneak off in the middle of the night, but I was down here getting a drink and caught her. She made up a story about going hunting with her father, but I knew better. So I followed her to the front door, to see for myself. The night before, I had heard her arguing with her father…about you, so I knew she was angry with him. And you know how she is when she’s mad at anyone.” A brief, tiny smile lifted one corner of his scarred lips. “I demanded she tell me what she was really doing, and she told me she was running away, to punish her father.”

            Bane frowned and shook his head. “So why did you not alert her father?”

            “I should have. I know I should have, but…”

            “But what?”

            Akar bowed his head. “You will think me weak.”

            “I will think nothing of the sort. Tell me.”

            Akar faltered. “She said if I told her father, she would never speak to me again.”

            Of course this did not surprise Bane. Talia would know exactly how to wound Akar the most severely—by threatening their friendship. Here in this strict environment where most of the men came and went regularly—some never to return—it meant the world to Akar to have a friend, especially one close to his age, particularly now with Bane among the transient.

            “You should have known she didn’t mean it, Akar.”

            “I wouldn’t be so certain. She was very determined and very angry. She’s like that when you’re gone.”

            Bane noticed Jamyang in the kitchen doorway, a towel in hand. He expected the old man to scowl and bark at Akar, but surprisingly he gave Bane a small, indulgent nod and something that passed for a tight smile, before he slipped back into the kitchen before Akar saw him. Jamyang could be a crusty cuss, Bane knew, but he also cared deeply for Akar, even though he never voiced such sentiment. That one glimpse of the cook told Bane of his concern for what had happened, and of course he would be ill-prepared to offer moral support, nor would he want to openly side with anyone but Rā’s al Ghūl.

            “I told Talia if she was going,” Akar continued, “then I was going with her. Of course, she didn’t like that very much, but I reminded her I have a promise to keep to you—to protect her the best I can. I knew you wouldn’t want me just to watch her walk out that door all by herself.”

            “Very true, but I regret that keeping your promise to me required you to defy your master. Talia should never have put you in such a position.”

            “She’s sorry, Bane.”

            “It’s a bit late for that. She may be sorry, but I am sure that had little bearing on Rā’s’ reaction when he found you in that cave.”

            “The whole time we were there, I kept trying to convince her to go home, but then she became sick. So that was when I put a marker outside the cave. I knew her father and our brothers would be looking for her. I couldn’t leave to go fetch help myself.”

            “A wise decision.”

            “And now she has pneumonia because I was too much of a coward to stop her from running away.”

            “Akar.” Bane waited until the boy raised his head again. “You are too hard on yourself. I am guessing Rā’s meted out some sort of punishment. That is enough. You need not punish yourself as well.”

            Akar glanced upward in the atrium as if in fear of seeing his master. “He was going to exile me,” he murmured.

            The word shocked Bane. He knew Rā’s would be greatly disappointed with Akar, but…exile? However, considering that Rā’s was unable to punish Talia as severely as he no doubt wished to, Bane realized Rā’s had turned the brunt of his displeasure upon those he could chastise more thoroughly. Perhaps that transference of punishment had been why, in truth, Rā’s had refused Bane’s request to hunt down the woman responsible for Acayo’s kidnapping. Indirectly Rā’s assigned some measure of blame upon Bane for Talia’s rebellion, considering what had motivated her. The unfairness rankled Bane. Surely Rā’s would realize this pettiness and perhaps allow the mission after all.

            “What made him decide not to exile you?”

            “He told Talia that I was normally obedient and virtuous and that she could learn from me, so he gave me a choice. He said I could either accept exile in Drolma’s village or I could come back here and face death if I meddled again.”

            Bane scowled. Though not surprised by Rā’s’ ultimatum, the thought of someone as gentle and good as Akar losing his life simply for doing what he thought was best for Talia made anger rise up and clench his fists. To occupy his fingers, he reached for the mask and donned it once more.

            “You have nothing to worry about, Akar. I know you have learned a difficult lesson, and I will make sure Talia has learned it as well. Perhaps some good will come of this—Talia will no longer try to involve you in her intrigue. And hopefully there will be no more intrigue.”

            “Are you angry with me?”

            “Of course not. I would have done the same, had I been in your shoes.”

            Akar frowned, appearing unconvinced.

            Bane put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you will continue to do your duty, as we all must. And I thank you for looking after our wayward sister.” He conjured a smile to ease the boy’s humiliation. “You are the best man here, Akar.”

            At last a tiny smile of his own broke out on Akar’s face. “Thank you, Bane. That means a lot to me.”

            Bane gave him a pat. “You had best get this table cleared, then, before Jamyang has your head on a platter. And I must speak with Talia.”

#

            The door to Talia’s bedroom stood halfway open, and Bane heard Temujin within. The Mongol spoke too low for words to be distinguishable, but at least Bane knew Talia must be awake. He knocked gently upon the door.

            “Come in,” Talia called in a scratchy-sounding voice tinged with anticipation.

            When she saw him, her pale face brightened, her expression opening. “Bane!”

            He smiled behind the mask, heart swelling with love, erasing some of the regret and pain he still felt over Acayo’s death. He remembered what Temujin had said on the plane—that Talia had the ability to heal him, and he had hope for that now. Seeing her was like fitting a missing piece into a puzzle to complete it.

            He crossed the room in a few long strides, the oak floor protesting his weight. Temujin stood from the wooden chair beside Talia’s bed and offered it to Bane.

            “I have already stayed too long,” Temujin said.

            “You don’t have to go, Jin,” Talia insisted, reaching out. Bane sensed trepidation in her, as if she hoped Temujin remaining would shield her from the inevitable reprimand.

            Temujin grinned and kissed her hand. “You and Bane have much to talk about. I will see you in the morning, _üyerkhsen_.”

            She frowned. “Good night, Jin. I’m so glad you’re back.”

            “Me, too. Get some rest.” He gestured at Bane and winked. “And don’t let this lumbering bull tire you out.”

            She smiled. “I won’t.”

            “Good night, then.”

            With a pointed glance at Bane, Temujin left, closing the door behind him.

            Instead of sitting in the chair, Bane settled on the bed next to Talia. She pushed back her blankets and embraced him, her arms feeling weak around him.

            “I missed you so much, _habibi_.”

            “I missed you, too, little mouse. Now, lie back down and rest.”

            Reluctantly she obeyed, and he pulled the covers, including her mother’s blanket, back over her. She took his hand while the other opened to reveal her ivory elephant talisman.

            “See. It brought you both back safely. I’ve kept it with me the whole time.”

            “How are feeling, _habibati_?”

            “I’m starting to feel better, and Choden says I will be even better tomorrow.”

            “He has been looking after you well, of course?”

            “Yes. And Jamyang made a wonderful soup for me. He said tomorrow I may have hot chocolate, if I’m feeling better.”

            Bane chuckled. “You are never too sick for that, are you, little mouse?”

            She grinned.

            He felt her forehead. “You still have a slight fever.”

            “Yes, but it’s not as bad as before. I’m on antibiotics now.”

            “Very good.” His hand smoothed her hair before retreating.

            “Jin said your mission was a success.”

            “Indeed.”

            Her happy expression drifted away, and she set aside the talisman. “Jin told me about the girl…Acayo.”

            Bane dropped his gaze to their entwined fingers. “Yes, it was unfortunate.”

            Talia said nothing more until he looked at her. “I’m sorry, _habibi_.”

            “There is nothing to be sorry for. It was a necessity.”

            The sadness in her sapphire eyes told him that she saw through his feigned apathy. She brought her other hand to cover his, softly said, “What was she like?”

            At first he was reluctant, yet he could deny Talia nothing, so he began to talk about Acayo. And as he spoke, he found more and more words flowing through the mask, a cathartic wave of description and explanation that went on for some time. But he stopped short of telling her about the moment when he had shot Acayo. He was not yet ready to relate that, not even to Talia, and she refrained from pressing him. Of course she would understand his mixed emotions, even at her young age; she was attuned to him, more so than he was himself many times.

            “Did she tell you how she got the acid burns?”

            “Yes, on our last morning together. Because of our talk the night before, I sensed that she shared her story with me as a way to thank me and to show a deepening of our bond. After all, I had told her about my injuries at the very beginning.”

            “What did she say?”

            “She told me her father had wanted her to marry a man whom she did not love and even feared. His previous wife had disappeared. The fact that he showed little grief concerned Acayo deeply. She shared her concerns with her father, but he refused to listen. So she went to the man and told him she would never marry him, that she thought him cruel, though he tried to hide such things from the community. She also told him that she believed he had killed his wife or had someone else do it. He was furious, of course. Acayo said he probably felt that she was his last chance at a wife because the other fathers in the village would never marry their daughters to him. Well, a few days later, he waited for her to walk home from school. That was when he attacked her with the acid. He said no one would want her after that.”

            Talia’s fingers tightened upon him. “How horrible. How painful that must have been.” She studied Bane, softly added, “Of course you two would feel a bond, having both suffered what you did.”

            Bane thought he detected a slight coloring of jealousy in her last words. It did not surprise him. After all, she had never had to share him with anyone, not like he had to share her with her father.

            “I mourn her because the world has few in it with pure hearts. And to have destroyed that myself…”

            “Like Jin said, you had to, Bane.” She rubbed his hand.

            “I wish you could have met her, Talia. You two would have become friends, I’m sure of it. She was brave, like you, kind and intelligent.” He pushed aside his sorrow, knew it was time to move on. “And there is something else you share with Acayo—willfulness.” He raised a judgmental eyebrow at her.

            She squirmed beneath the blankets and withdrew her hands from him, looking away.

            “Your father told me what happened while I was gone. And I spoke to Akar as well.”

            She gave a small gasp. “What did Akar say? Does he hate me? Papa won’t let him see me while I’m being punished. I have to stay in my room a whole month. A month, Bane! How can I train if I’m stuck in here?”

            “You won’t be in any condition for physical training for some time. Now don’t change the subject, Talia.”

            She frowned and pulled her mother’s blanket up to her chin, pressed deeper into the pillow as if to hide. With a fabricated yawn, she said, “Can’t we talk about this tomorrow? I feel terrible, and I’m so tired.”

            “No, we shall talk of it now, and there will be no games, young lady.”

            Talia regarded him sadly, somehow making her beautiful eyes even larger, her long lashes fluttering. “Papa has already lectured me and sentenced me. Must you do the same? I’ve missed you so much. Can’t we talk about something else?”

            Bane scowled. “Talia.”

            Seeing that he would not relent, she went on the offensive. “Did Papa tell you _why_ I ran away?”

            “Yes.”

            “He wants to keep us separated. Did he tell you that?”

            “He isn’t separating us, Talia. But if you continue your rebellious tactics, he may send me away permanently. We’ve talked about this, you and I, haven’t we?”

            Stubbornness tightened her jaw, and she looked to the right, toward the blazing fireplace. “You should be angry at Papa, like I am.”

            “And what good would that do either one of us?”

            “He’s jealous, you know. He wants me to himself.”

            “What he wants is for you to excel in your studies, and what just happened proves that I am a distraction to you. That can’t happen. I, too, want you to excel; I don’t want to be the reason why you fail.”

            “I won’t fail.”

            “But you have.”

            She turned back to him, insult darkening her cheeks. “I will take Sangye’s test again, and I will pass—”

            “I’m not talking about exams, Talia. Now, listen to me, and stop being petulant. Do you think I want to have this discussion, especially just back from a difficult mission and you lying here sick abed? I, too, would much rather talk of pleasant things, but what you did was very egregious. It does not affect only you; that is what you must remember. And I am not referring just to us, but to Akar.”

            Now the defiance in her expression crumbled into shame. She mumbled, “I didn’t tell him to come with me.”

            “No, but you backed him into a corner, and he had little choice.”

            Talia fiddled with the edge of the blanket.

            “And it could end up costing him his life if the two of you aren’t careful.”

            “Papa was bluffing; he would never hurt Akar.”

            “Your father does not bluff. He would take no more pleasure in killing Akar than I did killing Acayo, but if he feels it’s necessary…”

            “You wouldn’t let him do such a thing.”

            “Talia.” Bane leaned forward. “I must obey your father in all things, as must you, even if it means Akar’s end. You must understand. This is not a game your father is playing. He means what he says. Look at me, _habibati_ , and tell me you understand.”

            Furrows creased her forehead. “I understand,” she murmured at last. The lines deepened. “Is Akar afraid? I don’t want him to be afraid.”

            “It might do him some good to be afraid for a while. The same for you, my shameful little minx.”

            A slight tremor stirred Talia’s bottom lip, and she stared at the blanket, whispered, “I’m sorry, Bane.”

            He could not stay angry with her, no matter what, especially seeing her so sickly and, finally, genuinely remorseful for what she had orchestrated. Perhaps, he told himself, it was fortuitous that Akar had accompanied her, for his life being in the balance now might very well be the thing to keep her in check moving forward.

            “ _Habibati_ ,” he said softly, all authority gone from his tone now. He touched her flushed cheek. “I’m only saying these things for your own good. You know that.”

            A tear escaped her eye. “I hate it when you leave. I didn’t know how else to make Papa understand.”

            “He understands. But he sees our bond as something that can be a deterrent to both of us and our potential.”

            “Do you see it that way?”

            “Of course not.”

            “Then what can we do?”

            He smiled secretively and leaned close to her, spoke privately. “We will do our best to show your father that we are complying with his wishes. We must placate him. In time, I believe his grip will loosen, once he feels satisfied. Remember, there are often times when his work calls him away, especially now that you are older. It is those times that we must treasure and make the most of.”

            “But what if he makes sure you’re away at the same time?”

            “No doubt there will be such times, but I think he will feel more comfortable knowing that I am here to protect you when he is gone, just as I will feel more at ease knowing he is here with you when I am away.”

            Her fingers trailed absently over his mask. The gesture seemed to calm her; the tears had receded.

            “No matter what, Talia, I will always be here for you. I will always come back. No one can keep me from that pledge. We are the same, you and I. Not even your father can stand between us. But you will promise me now that you will play your part—you will be the dutiful daughter, and I will be the good soldier. That is how we will stay together, yes?”

            Talia looked deep into his eyes and offered a tight smile, whispered, “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you have enjoyed this story, and if you haven't already read my other Bane fics on here, I hope you do. Also, if you like my writing, you may also enjoy my published action/adventure series, the Jack Mallory Chronicles. Learn more at skkeogh(dot)com.


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